


The Sea Like Glass

by hushlittlewolf



Series: The Mandalorian and the Mechanic [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Also consent is sexy, Bottom!Din if you squint, Changed rating from T to E for smut in 2nd chapter, Din Djarin Deserves Some Tenderness and a Family okay, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, If you haven't seen the finale, Keldabe Kiss, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Praise Kink, Romance, Soft Din Djarin, Spoilers, Swearing, Touch-Starved, and cuddles, post-season 2 finale, virgin!Din
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28275003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hushlittlewolf/pseuds/hushlittlewolf
Summary: "Often there is silence, the long tunnel, the sea like glass..." -- Richard SikenDin has won the title of Mand'alor but lost his son. You try to comfort him but are at a loss when confronted by a maskless, vulnerable Mandalorian.Set moments after the Season 2 finale.Warnings: Brief mentions of blood (but nothing explicit). The rest is just angsty fluff and Din having his first kiss.**Update: Smutty chapter 2 has been posted
Relationships: Din Djarin & Reader, Din Djarin/Reader, Din Djarin/You
Series: The Mandalorian and the Mechanic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108808
Comments: 64
Kudos: 538





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally the most self-indulgent thing lol. 
> 
> Din Djarin stole my heart and forced me to write my first fic in YEARS, so please be kind. (And yes I used a Richard Siken quote in the summary and title bc time is meaningless and it can be 2012 if I want it to.) Anyway, I just want Mando to have love and be happy and appreciated, and that's what led to this. 
> 
> Please leave your comments below so we can cry about Din Djarin together! :)
> 
> Also, please don't come at me for any lore mistakes. I'm new to this particular fandom, ok?

The silence was deafening, stretching before you like the yawning abyss of space, like an endless sea.

You thought you’d be used to it. You _were_ used to it. Grateful for it even, after all your years spent working in crowded space ports and mechanic shops, the clanging of machinery and shouting voices making your ears ring late into the night.

When the Mandalorian first hired you to keep the _Razor Crest_ running on little more than adhesive and hope, you welcomed the silence. Revelled in it. He wasn’t exactly the chatty type, but you weren’t either, so it worked out pretty well. Sometimes, in the beginning, before you knew his name was Din Djarin, before you knew what he _looked like_ , you would go days without saying anything to each other beyond, “Fixed that sparking wire,” or “Rehydrated stew. Here.”

But the silence never felt oppressive or awkward. It was easy. Comfortable.

This silence was anything but.

Din’s imposing silhouette stood facing away from you in the middle of a ruined hallway. The beskar spear was strapped to his back, the point jutting out above his left shoulder like a disjointed limb, and the Dark Saber glimmered menacingly, still clenched in his right fist. His shoulders rose and fell almost imperceptivity as his head tilted down to take in the pieces of machinery at his feet, and his empty left hand hung limp at his side.

The image felt wrong, though. Your eyes kept skipping to the side, tracing the gouges the Jedi’s lightsaber had left in the walls, studying the disarticulated and crushed Dark Troopers, counting the kriffing panels in the ceiling, _anything_ to keep you from staring at the soft brown curls topping the crown of Din’s head.

You throat felt tight as you stood there staring at his back. You knew that _he_ knew you were there, you weren’t very quiet in your approach, but he hadn’t moved an inch or said a word since you stopped ten feet away from him.

You didn’t want to be the one to break the silence. In fact, you would rather face another Dark Trooper, one-on-one, barehanded, instead of being the one to speak up first. You had no idea what to say. Was there even anything _to_ say to a man who had lost both his Creed and his foundling in one fell swoop?

The thought of Grogu, the image of his big brown eyes looking over the Jedi’s shoulder as they walked away, possibly forever, stole the breath from your lungs and threatened to bring you to your knees, but you couldn’t let it. Wouldn’t. There wasn’t time.

Bo-Katan would be coming soon. You were surprised she hadn’t already. The moment Grogu and the Jedi had disappeared into the elevator, Bo-Katan and the other Mando immediately began shouting at each other. Some of it was in Basic, but most of it was in a language you only knew to be Mando’a from Din muttering to himself occasionally. And you didn’t need to be fluent to understand Bo-Katan was Not Happy.

Cara had quickly jumped in to add her two credits about the idea of Bo-Katan attacking Din, and how that would not end well for the Mandalorian heiress, which switched the conversation back to Basic, and then they were all yelling again. You’d barely even heard Fennec growl out a response because your eyes were glued to Din’s profile, watching as he blindly stumbled forward and slipped out of the room without anyone else noticing, the Dark Saber still clenched and glowing in his fist.

You’d met Cara’s eye briefly, and when she nodded almost imperceptibly and launched into an even _louder_ tirade to draw Bo-Katan’s attention, you darted toward the door. You paused a moment to pick up Din’s discarded helmet and cast one last look at Moff Gideon’s unconscious body, and then you slipped out of the command deck as quiet as a shadow.

The Jedi’s destruction was incredible, but you’d barely spared it half a glance as you darted down the long, ruined hall. You’d skidded to a stop in front of the elevator, but something told you to turn down the adjacent hallway instead. Your feet carried you forward before your brain could catch up, and you were suddenly sprinting down the next hall, the helmet a heavy cold weight in your hand.

Thankfully, you’d found Din after only three more sharp turns, but if you found him so quickly, then Bo-Katan was already breathing down your neck.

There was no _time_.

You took a deep breath and stepped over the still sparking head of a Dark Trooper as you tentatively approached the stock-still Mandalorian.

“Din,” you murmured, tone hushed and easy like you were trying to soothe a spooked bantha.

He twitched slightly at the sound of your voice, and the Dark Saber in his grasp hummed in response. He didn’t turn to look at you.

“We need to get to the hanger,” you tried again. “Boba should be on his way back, but if he isn’t here… in time, we can take a TIE-fighter or something. We just… need to get out of here as fast as we can.”

Still, Din didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Moments ticked by, and a bead of sweat trailed down your spine.

You opened your mouth to say his name again, but this time he beat you to the punch.

“One man,” he muttered as he gestured limply with the Dark Saber, “did all this. I… couldn’t even take out the one Dark Trooper.”

You shuddered as you remembered how easily the Jedi had carved through the black droids, but you shoved away the memory.

No time. No time.

“I know,” you said softly. “He was very powerful. Which means… he’ll keep Grogu safe.”

The foundling’s name felt like glass coming up. He might not have been yours by Creed but you loved him all the same, and his absence was like a yawning sarlacc pit in your gut.

Din twitched again at Grogu’s name, but you barreled onward, for both of your sake’s.

“But _we’re_ not safe, Din,” you emphasized. “ _You’re_ not. Cara and Fennec are keeping Bo-Katan distracted for as long as they can, but you heard Gideon. She has to _fight_ you to take the Dark Saber, and you’re not… we need some time to regroup. We need to put some distance between us and Bo-Katan so we can figure out a solution. And if we’re going to do that, we need to go. Now.”

As you said the last word, you took several fast strides forward until you stood on Din’s left side, opposite of the still humming Dark Saber. You clenched your eyes closed as you extended the helmet in your hands, and all the hairs on your body stood on end as you felt him turn and look at you.

“What are you doing?” he asked, and the sound of his _real_ voice, without the modulator, sent a riot of shivers down your spine.

“What?” you breathed, your brain unable to form a more coherent response.

“Why are you closing your eyes?”

The question felt rhetorical, ridiculous. You floundered as you searched for an answer.

“I-I, well, your Creed—” you stuttered and then cursed yourself. You shouldn’t have mentioned it, you shouldn’t have mentioned it—

“I already broke my Creed,” his voice said quietly from the darkness. “It… It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.”

“That’s not tru—” you started to argue.

“MANDOOOO!”

Bo-Katan’s enraged shriek echoed through the ship and cut you off, and a moment later you heard her boots pounding onto the metal deck of the ship’s hallways.

“Dank farrik!” you hissed as your eyes flew open.

You stubbornly avoided looking at Din as you shoved his helmet under one of your arms and grabbed his hand.

“Come on!” You stumbled forward and dragged him after you, and suddenly the pair of you were careening down hallways. You took blind turn after blind turn in the hopes of losing the experienced warrior hunting for you, and after you were sufficiently lost, you yanked the compliant Mandalorian into a non-descript storage room.

The door hissed closed behind you, and the room was engulfed in a semi-darkness. The only source of illumination was the purple-white light of the Dark Saber.

You and Din looked at the mysterious weapon at the same time, and the bounty hunter made a confused noise, like he’d just realized he was still holding it. He twitched his finger, and the weapon clicked off, plunging the room into full inky blackness.

You considered searching for a light-switch but after a moment decided against it. The beskar helmet was still heavy and cool in your sweaty palm, and Din’s grating pants were unmasked and too real sounding. Too human.

“Are you alright?” you asked after a moment.

Din barked a laugh, so loud and uncharacteristic it startled you into dropping his helmet. The beskar clanged against the metal floor, and you cursed under your breath as you scrambled to pick it up.

“Sorry, sorry,” you muttered frantically as you patted the ground until your fingers bumped into the cool armor.

“It’s fine,” Din said, and he suddenly stooped and laid his hand over yours, his instincts and aim impressing you even now.

“It’s not fine,” your argued as you picked up the helmet. “And it _does_ matter.”

Silence was his only response once again, but you used this opportunity to listen for Bo-Katan. You couldn’t hear her yet, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t close. You had seen the deadly heiress in action. She could be standing on the other side of the door for all you knew.

You needed to get off this kriffing ship.

“Here,” you said as you fumbled out, found Din’s hands, and pressed the helmet into them. “Put this on. Then we can figure out where we are in relation to the hanger so we can get the fuck out of here.”

“No.”

“Din—” you groaned.

“I-I can’t put it back on,” he cut you off. “I… I don’t want to.”

You didn’t have a reply for that.

“O-Okay,” you said after a long moment where you realized he was waiting for you to say something. “Well… what do you want? And you better not say ‘fight Bo-Katan’ because I can’t…”

 _I can’t lose you, too,_ you finished in your head. But you didn’t have the courage to say that out loud. You knew your place. Or you used to, anyway. You were the ship mechanic. The occasional baby-sitter. The hired help. So, it was easy to tell yourself that the fantasies in your head were just that. It was easy to shove those budding feelings down so far into your chest they never saw the light of day.

But then you had grown closer to the stoic, enigmatic Mandalorian. You grew closer to his strange, little green foundling. Then the mysterious bounty hunter told you his name one day when you were trying to hold his femoral artery together with nothing but bacta gel and hope. And, after, he began to open up to you more. He told you stories of his travels and bounties, laughed occasionally, and suddenly you realized you were a part of a family. A strange, abnormal, unconventional family, but a family nonetheless, the first one you’d ever had.

And now…

“I want to turn on the light.”

Din’s voice drew you from your thoughts, and you blinked stupidly in the dark for a moment.

“What?” you asked once again.

Shuffling was the only answer you received, and you felt the bounty hunter’s looming presence leave your side. A moment later, you heard his hand hit the wall, and then light was flooding your vision.

You hissed in the sudden brightness and closed your eyes on instinct.

“Don’t,” Din muttered, abruptly by your side again. His gloved hand tentatively touched your wrist, like he was asking permission, and you almost lost your grip on the helmet again.

“W-What are you doing?” you stammered, and your heart pounded out an erratic rhythm behind your ribcage. He was standing too close. His smell—sweat and metal and a hint of smoke—enveloped you, your breath growing shallow in an effort to keep your head from spinning. You kept your eyes closed.

“Open your eyes,” Din said. Paused. Then… “Please.”

His voice was so tentative, so unsure, so _lost_ , you found yourself obeying unwittingly.

You blinked to adjust your vision and then steadfastly locked your gaze onto the gleaming beskar on his chest.

“Okay,” you breathed, voice low and quiet because this moment felt as fragile as glass. Your eyes skipped over to the mudhorn signet on his pauldron, but you could see the bottom of his face in your peripherals, and your mind was filling in the blanks with what you now knew was there.

You still refused to look.

“Please,” Din said again, but this time his voice actually _cracked_ , the unsaid _‘Look at me’_ resounding in your ears, and you were rendered powerless.

You lifted your eyes, your fingers going bone white as you clenched the beskar helmet as hard as you could.

A strong chin and jawline, covered in a smattering of dark scruff. A full mouth set below a fuller mustache. A straight nose, proud brow. And eyes of the richest brown, so decadent that your mouth immediately tasted sweet.

Then it went dry as you saw the tears in those same lovely eyes.

“Oh, Din,” you murmured, and this time it was your voice that cracked, and it cracked in time with your heart.

“I did what I thought was right,” he rasped, and even as your chest constricted, you found yourself mesmerized by the motions of his mouth as he spoke.

Your brain tried to fire up enough neurons to craft a reply, but it kept getting derailed by the hints of silver in the scruff around his jawline. You ended up just gaping like a Gungan, and the bounty hunter barreled on to fill the silence.

“Grogu had to go with the Jedi,” he rambled, and that finally kickstarted the malfunctioning gears in your head. The Mandalorian rarely spoke, let alone rambled. “It was the only way to keep him safe. I-I tried. I couldn’t. The Jedi can, so I had to let him go. But… By Creed, I was his father, but I actually…”

He trailed off and gasped for breath, at a loss for words now, but you no longer were.

“You loved him,” you said simply. “He was your son.”

Din shuddered out an exhale and nodded. “In that moment, my Creed didn’t matter. I… just wanted him to see me, see my face… give him something to remember me by… if he even ever does.”

That lost, uncertain quality of his voice fully shattered something inside you—your inhibitions, your Maker given common sense, you weren’t sure—but suddenly you were blindly setting the beskar helmet down on a crate and reaching out to cup the bounty hunter’s cheek.

Din inhaled sharply at your touch, and you had half a moment to panic before the tension abruptly bled out of his body, and he turned his face into your palm.

You brain short-circuited.

You were _touching_ him. Touching his _face_. His olive skin was warm, the scruff just the right amount of rough against your skin, and his _lips_ were pressed into your _thumb_. A thought occurred to you that you were probably the only person outside Grogu to touch Din’s face since he was a child, and the breath stilled in your lungs.

A strangled, aborted noise rose up in your throat, but you swallowed it down along with your mounting hysteria.

You couldn’t react like every cell in your body was screaming to. This wasn’t about you. This was about him.

“O-Of course Grogu will remember you,” you whispered, afraid that anything louder would startle the fragile, fractured man before you. “You said it yourself. You’re his father. A clan of two. He loves you and always will. And we’ll see him again. We both promised him, and I like to think we’re people of our word.”

Din’s eyes fluttered open, his lashes brushing against your fingers like phantom kisses, and then his dark-chocolate gaze locked with yours, and it was like you’d just been punched in the solar plexus as all the breath in your lungs whooshed past your lips.

“We?” he murmured like you weren’t actively drowning in his eyes.

“Huh?” You felt drugged, disoriented the longer you maintained eye contact, but then Din reached up and placed his hand over yours on his cheek, and the jolt of lightning you experienced at his touch brought you back into your body.

“You said ‘ _we’ll_ see him again,’” he clarified as he searched your face. “Does… this mean you’re thinking about sticking around?”

Without the intimidating mask of the helmet, you could see every emotion he was feeling flicker across his handsome features. Fear. Uncertainty. Insecurity. Loneliness. And… something you couldn’t quite name. Something soft and entirely foreign to you.

You didn’t know how to process all of that, you didn’t know how to process _any_ of this really. This entire situation felt like the first time you left the atmosphere of a planet, or when you experienced zero-G for the first time after the gravity stabilizers on the _Razor Crest_ went on the fritz. Your heart was in your throat, and you felt simultaneously weightless and like you were being crushed in a vise.

His brown-eyed gaze was also driving you slowly but absolutely insane, and suddenly you were talking without thought and with no foreseeable way to stop.

“Well, I… um,” you stuttered, and his hand was still holding yours against his cheek, and his chest was practically pressed into yours, and you were pretty sure the blood was boiling in your veins. “D-Do you want me to s-stick around? I mean, you hired me for ship maintenance, but, well, the ship… And then of course I was going to help get the kid back, I know I wasn’t supposed to, but I loved him like he was ours—I mean mine! Like he was mine, too, also… in addition to yours…”

You slammed your eyes and mouth closed at the same time as shame burned through you like a wildfire, and you prayed for a hole to open up in the hull of the ship and suck you out into space.

This is why you never said anything about your feelings. You knew you’d never survive the embarrassment of rejection.

Din was silent for an eternity, and you were just about to whirl around, flee out into the hall, and find Bo-Katan to put you out of your misery, when he suddenly squeezed your hand against his cheek.

“You were wrong,” he said, and now you were wondering why Moff Gideon couldn’t have just killed you back on the command deck.

“I’m sor—” you started, trying to pull back, but Din’s hand was like iron around your fingers, and panic was rising in your throat again—

“You were wrong when you said ‘clan of two,’” the bounty hunter derailed your spiraling thoughts, and the words were so nonsensical, you opened your eyes and stopped struggling all at once.

“What?” That seemed to be your favorite word today, but given the circumstances, you felt it was appropriate.

“You said Grogu and I were a clan of two,” Din explained as he stared into your eyes, and now he was just lightly cupping your hand against his face, his fingers partially intertwined with yours. “But I’ve thought of us as a clan of three for… awhile now.”

“Three?” you repeated breathlessly. Maybe you _had_ died. Or at least hit your head at some point and fell unconscious. There was no way this was really happening…

“Yes.” Din nodded like that made any sense at all. “I never said anything because I never thought we could actually… But then I realized there were more… important things than my Creed.”

“Like Grogu?” you asked as you tried to bring this conversation back to reality, thinking of how the Mandalorian had removed his helmet _twice_ for the little foundling, but Din was determined to destroy your mind completely.

“And you,” he murmured. “I… I wanted you to see my face—see me—too.”

Your legs threatened to give out beneath you.

“Din,” you breathed, your heart now crawling up your throat again and wanting to trip off your tongue like a high-diver. “I—”

“I know I have little to offer you,” he cut you off, and then he was rambling again. “My ship is gone, the kid, too. I don’t know what’s going to happen with Bo-Katan or this kriffing saber, and I know I’m older than you—”

“I don’t care.” You were the one to interrupt him this time, and you stepped even closer as you laid your other hand on his opposite cheek, framing his handsome face between your fingers. “I don’t care about any of that, Din. I… I’ve never belonged anywhere, never had anywhere to really call home and mean it. But with you… I don’t care about your ship, or whatever title you now have. And I could give a heap of bantha dung about your age. You—”

You bit your lip as your brain finally caught up to your mouth, and you thought you might have gone too far.

But then Din made a small noise in the back of this throat, and his eyes were wide, limpid, _pleading_ , and you realized he wanted, no _needed_ , for you to go on.

This man, this _Mandalorian_ , a bounty hunter feared across multiple quadrants of the galaxy, was standing before you, metaphorically and literally stripped of armor, putting his vulnerable heart in your hands.

You didn’t know what you had done to deserve this, but you refused to do _anything_ that would hurt the man in front of you.

So, you swallowed down your doubts, your pride, and your insecurities, and you brushed one of your thumbs along the swell of his bottom lip, your skin pleasantly catching on the scruff there.

“You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” you confessed, and you met his gaze directly so he could see the truth in your eyes. “And I feel honored that you have granted me the privilege to see your face, to earn your trust, and… to be consider a part of your clan. I-I love you, Din Djarin.”

There, you’d said the dreaded words you’d been trying to ignore for the longest time now. The truth was out in the open. But, for the first time, you felt something you hadn’t experienced in a while.

Hope.

Din exhaled heavily, and the knob on his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Cyar’ika,” he rasped, and even if you didn’t recognize the Mando’a word, the tone in which he said it made goosebumps break out across your body. “Can I… Can I kiss you?”

You didn’t trust your voice not to fail you as your mouth went as dry as Tatooine, so you settled for nodding. And then nodding again more emphatically.

“Okay,” Din whispered as he lifted his other hand to your face, but then he cursed when he saw he was still holding the deactivated Dark Saber.

He twisted slightly, letting his and your hands fall off his cheek, and you felt suddenly cold and bereft as you stood there swaying. Then he set the saber on the crate beside his beskar helmet, stripped off his gloves with his teeth, turned back to you and…

Froze.

His arms hung suspended in mid-air, and his fingers flexed around nothing as he stared at you, his brown eyes tentative, his body rigid with uncertainty.

You had the thought again that you were one of the only people to have touched the Mandalorian’s face since he was a child, and then you realized this meant he’d most likely never kissed anyone and—

Desire and a surprising possessiveness ignited in your gut and burned away the rest of your insecurities, and you stepped into the circle of his arms, guiding one to wrap around you waist and the other to cup your jaw.

“You can touch me,” you murmured encouragingly. “Wherever you want.”

Din’s warm brown eyes roved over your face like he was a man dying of thirst and you were an oasis, and then he copied your earlier move as his thumb brushed under your lower lip. His touch was gentle, almost reverential. No man had ever touched you like that.

“Mesh’la,” he rumbled, the word rolling off his tongue and settling like a burning ember low in your gut. Then his other hand tightened along the small of your back, and his gaze locked onto your parted lips.

The entire universe faded away as Din slowly began to lean in. There was no Empire, no Imps out for your heads. There was no Bo-Katan, no Dark Saber, no Mandalore. There were no Jedi or lost foundlings. There was only you and your Mandalorian, and the ever-shrinking distance between your mouths.

Your eyes fluttered shut when Din’s warm breath hit your lips, and you curled your arms around his neck as you tilted your head to the side and—

His mouth collided with yours with enough force to make your teeth clack, and you hissed as blood bloomed across your tongue.

Din’s breath hitched in his chest as he jerked his head back.

“Sorry,” he rasped, his voice just as harsh and jagged as his breathing. Then his eyes widened as they zeroed in on your lips again. “Dank farrik! I’m sorry. I—”

He dropped his hands, tried to step back away from you, but you wouldn’t let him. You just tightened your arms around his neck and stepped into his chest.

“Don’t,” you whispered but suppressed a wince when speaking made pain spark through your bottom lip. You locked the fingers of your left hand in his soft curls to make sure he wouldn’t go anywhere, and then you reached up with your right hand and ran your fingers across your mouth.

They came away spotted in red.

“I’m sorry,” Din apologized for the third time, his expression tortured, but he didn’t try to move away again. Instead, his hands settled onto your hips, his touch feather-light and unsure. “I haven’t—I don’t know how…”

“It’s okay,” you said, your tongue coming out and swiping up the droplets of blood on your lip. “See? All better.”

Din’s pupils dilated as he tracked the pink muscle and watched it slip back into your mouth, and his hands seemed to subconsciously flex around the curves of your hips.

The desire in his gaze turned your bones to jelly, and you were suddenly burning up from the inside out.

“Want to try again?” you asked, and your voice was rough and hungry and not your own.

Din nodded, his own tongue peeking out to swipe at the chapped skin of his lower lip, and you tightened your grip on his hair as you cupped his face once more.

A stifled moan rattled in the back of Din’s throat at your touch, and when he nuzzled into your palm like he was touch-starved and begging for tenderness, you had to force yourself not to crash your mouth onto his this time.

Instead, you rose up on your tiptoes, cocked you head to the side, and softly slanted your mouth across his.

The Mandalorian was stiff, awkward, and unresponsive for a moment, but then it was like a switch had been flicked, and he melted into you. One arm wrapped fully around your back to bring you flush against his chest, and the other hand buried itself in your hair as his pliant mouth opened up beneath yours. You dragged your tongue over the skin of his lower lip, and a growl rumbled beneath his beskar chest plate as his own tongue chased yours back into your mouth. He tasted like metal and blaster residue and the salt of tears and the sea, and you knew right then and there you would be addicted to his flavor until the universe burned itself out.

His technique was obviously inexperienced and sloppy, but the eager little noises he was making in the back of his throat caused the apex of your thighs to throb, and you kissed him back with equal enthusiasm. Your fingers combed through his hair, dragged over the scratch of his stubble, felt the difference between the cold beskar and the warm, living man underneath. Stars danced in front of your closed eyes from lack of oxygen, and when you ripped yourself away to gasp for breath, Din immediately buried his face in your neck.

“Dinnn,” you keened, and the contrast of his soft lips and coarse mustache against the sensitive skin of your throat buckled your knees completely.

“I’ve got you, cyar’ika,” he murmured before he hoisted you up effortlessly and deposited you atop the crate where his helmet and the Dark Saber lay discarded and forgotten. Then he stepped into the V of your thighs, and your core throbbed again as he loomed over you. His lips were red and kiss-swollen, and his hair stuck out from his head at odd angles due to the ministrations of your fingers. Brown eyes, dilated with lust and something more, something deeper, bored down into you, and his bare hand came up to cup your chin.

This time, it was you who shuddered at his touch, and the scrape of his callouses made an embarrassing moan stumble off your tongue.

Din growled at the noise and was just beginning to lean back in when the comms attached to his suit screeched to life with a burst of static.

“Mando!” Cara Dune barked over the radio. “Dank farrik, is this the right channel? Where the kriff are you? We got Bo-Katan and her lackey trapped on one of the lower decks, but it won’t be long before they bypass the lockdown protocol. You and your little girlfriend need to high-tail it to the hanger. Now. Fett said he’s not gonna wait for your asses much longer. Do you copy?”

Her voice trailed back off into static, and you and Din stared at each other for a long, silent moment, the quiet only broken by your respective panting.

After another beat, the bounty hunter clicked on his comms, but his eyes never left yours. “Copy, Dune. We’ll meet you at the hanger soon. Don’t let Fett leave without us.”

Silence and static. Then… “Thank the kriffing Maker. Now, haul ass. And stay clear of Deck 4. Over and out.”

Din turned the comms back off, and in the subsequent silence, you realized your knees were still bracketing his hips, and your palms were pressed flat against his beskar covered chest. Your eyes darted down, and you could have sworn you spotted a bulge in his black pants, but you snapped your gaze back up before you self-combusted on the spot.

“Um…” You cleared your throat, fidgeted, and blushed, dropping your eyes as the universe came back to you and realization set in. “Sounds like we need to go. I, uh, wouldn’t put it past Boba to leave us here, and I _really_ don’t wanna run into Bo-Katan, soooo…”

Din’s brown eyes trailed over your face for another silent moment as if he was trying to memorize your features, and then he nodded once.

“Okay,” he said before he started to lean over you again. The breath stalled in your lungs, and you subconsciously tilted your chin up, ready to catch his lips again, but then the bounty hunter picked up his helmet in one hand and the Dark Saber in the other. He spared his new weapon—the weapon of a ruler, a king—half a glance before he attached it to his belt, and his gaze found yours once more.

“What?” you asked for the millionth time today, your skin hot and crawling under his intense scrutiny.

“Can I kiss you again, mesh’la?” he requested gently. There was that word again. Unknown, but soft as silk and smooth as honey, and you wanted to hear it every day until you died.

Your heart stuttered once more in disbelief at this new turn in your life, but you nodded quickly.

“Yes,” you said.

 _Always,_ you didn’t say, but you meant it with your whole heart.

Din smiled softly, a dimple popping out in his right cheek, and he dipped his head to press his lips against yours again. This kiss was gentle and chaste, devoid of any of the white-hot desire from earlier, but you whimpered into his mouth all the same. The noise spurred him on for a moment, his thumb coming to rest on the point of your chin, and his tongue delved into your mouth with a little more confidence.

He was going to ruin you. And you couldn’t ask for anything you wanted more.

He pulled away all too quickly, though, and then he was tugging you off the crate and onto your feet, slipping his helmet on in one smooth movement.

You mourned the loss of his face, but then he tucked his gloves away, reached out, and gripped your hand, intertwining his bare fingers between yours.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice once again strange and robotic through the helmet’s modulator.

But now you knew what he really sounded like, what his mouth looked like forming words, what he _tasted_ like, and warmth hot enough to rival Tattooine’s dual suns swelled in your chest.

“I’ll follow you anywhere,” you said honestly as you squeezed his hand. “You just lead the way.”

“My riduur.” Din squeezed your hand back and then bowed to press the visor of his helm against your forehead. He was once again wearing his full armor, covered head to toe in cold beskar, but something about the gesture felt intimate and vulnerable, and you couldn’t stop yourself from pecking a kiss where you knew his mouth resided.

“Mando,” Boba Fett’s voice growled over the comms a moment later. “I don’t give a flying kriff if you _are_ the new Mand’alor, if you’re not on this ship in two minutes, I’m leaving you to the princess.”

Din actually laughed, the sound husky and raspy through his modulator, and your mouth curled into a smile.

“Come on,” you snickered as you opened the storage room door and poked your head out. The coast was clear, so you tugged your Mandalorian into the hallway. “We don’t want to give Old Man Fett a stroke.”

“I heard that,” the older bounty hunter grumbled over the comms as you ran toward what you hoped was the hanger.

Din laughed again as the pair of you skidded around the corner, his hand wrapped tightly around yours, and you knew in that moment, everything would be okay.

You would figure out this Mand’alor business. You would deal with Bo-Katan. And, one day, your foundling would return to you.

Until then, you and Din would be your own clan of two, and that was just fine with you.


	2. We Have not Touched the Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven, which brings us back to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes, not from the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it. -- Richard Siken 
> 
> Din and you finally get a moment alone after several weeks of crammed and tense space travel. Now that you have a little privacy, it's time to clear the air about what happened on Moff Gideon's cruiser. 
> 
> The smutty part 2 you didn't ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooo... this happened. I planned to write just a short, smutty follow-up, but this turned into 16k of pining angst + some smut at the end. And yes I included another Richard Siken quote in the summary, sue me lol. 
> 
> Anyway, please leave your kudos and comments below! I've also included a glossary of Mando'a and other Star Wars terms in the end notes for your viewing pleasure.

“You sure you won’t change your mind?” Cara Dune asked as she stood on the ramp of _Slave 1,_ fidgeting with the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder.

The arched entrance to the city loomed behind her, the setting sun perfectly framed between its pillars. The warmth of the celestial orb made you shudder with pleasure after so long spent in the cold reaches of space, and you really wished you could take the marshal up on her offer.

Instead, you smiled wryly and chafed the outside of your arms, hoping to retain some of the heat even if it was just through friction. “Not my mind that needs changing.”

“I know, I know,” the former shock trooper muttered, and her eyes jumped over your shoulder, looking back up into the ship. “But… maybe if _you_ tried—”

“I’ve tried everything I knew to try,” you sighed and dropped your arms. “But you know how… stubborn he can be, and you heard his arguments as well as I did. Your people need you, Marshal, and we’ve dragged you around the galaxy long enough. Plus, Kyrze heard us mention this planet, so she will most likely stop here sooner rather than later, but he thinks if he’s off-world, she’ll just move on and continue her search elsewhere.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Cara asked with an arched eyebrow.

“She will,” you said, and even if you didn’t know this for certain, you were pretty confident in your words. You had seen the look in Bo-Katan’s eyes as she regarded the Dark Saber and then Din on Gideon’s cruiser. It had been almost a week since your motely group of four fled on _Slave 1,_ but even if you hadn’t seen hide or tail of the heiress, you knew she was out there, searching. Hunting.

And you knew she would hunt your Mando to the edges of the galaxy.

“Honestly, that’s kinda what I’m afraid of,” Cara grumbled as she shifted the pack on her shoulder again.

 _Me too,_ you wanted to say, but you didn’t.

“We’ll be fine,” you said instead, and you tried to flash the older woman a reassuring smile. “And if we aren’t, we know how to reach you.”

“Good.” Cara nodded, shifted again, hesitated. Her eyes glanced back behind her, and there was a quiet longing in her body language as she stared at her town, but then she turned to face you directly again. “If… if you do happen to change his mind at some point, my offer still stands. I’ll set you up with a nice residence here, and Karga always has work… We could probably even scrounge up a new ship somewhere. And if that princess does show her face around these parts, we can take care of her together.”

The earnest glint in the former shock trooper’s eyes warmed your aching heart just a fraction, and a small but genuine smile spread across your face.

“Thank you, Marshal Dune,” you said, and you cleared your throat when it suddenly grew tight. “It’s nice to know some people have your back. I’ve… never had that before.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that any longer, kid.” Cara smirked and reached out to playfully punch your shoulder. “You have a few people in your corner now. But, since it seems like we might not be in the same system for a bit, try to stay out of trouble, alright?”

“I’ll do my best,” you laughed before you jerked your chin in the direction of the city. “You better get going, Marshal. Sun’s setting, and I’m sure your people have missed you.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” she snorted, but she inclined her head and hefted her pack higher on her shoulder all the same. Then her eyes suddenly clicked over your shoulder again, and her smirk widened. “Hey, Mando. Come to say bye to me again?”

“Mostly wondering what the holdup is,” Din replied from behind you. “Fett’s ready to go.”

“I was just saying goodbye and seeing the marshal off.” You turned your head slightly and frowned at the imposing Mandalorian standing above you on the ramp.

“For ten minutes?”

“Some people don’t give monosyllabic answers,” Cara teased, and when you turned back to face her, her smirk had become a full-blown grin. “But don’t worry, I won’t keep your girl from you any longer.”

You flushed deeply at the “your girl” part of the marshal’s sentence, but she wasn’t done yet.

“Take care of her, okay, Mando?” Cara jerked a thumb at you, and the heat in your cheeks started to crawl down your neck. “If you don’t, I’ll have to come steal her from you myself since she’s obviously too good for you.”

The shock trooper tossed you a flirty wink, and even though you knew she was joking (for the most part, anyway,) you blushed from the roots of your hair all the way down to your sternum.

“I can take care of myself,” you muttered as you crossed your arms over your chest, but you couldn’t help shooting Din a furtive glance, wondering how he would respond.

The black T of his visor was inscrutable as ever, and his body language gave nothing away, either.

“She’ll be fine,” he said flatly, not even glancing at you. “Take care of yourself, Dune.”

“Always do,” Cara drawled, and she put two fingers to her temple in a partial salute.

Din nodded once, and that was apparently all he had to say on the matter because he turned and walked up the plank without another word or glance in your direction.

You frowned after the Mandalorian, an unsettling disquiet writhing through your veins. You suddenly felt cold, but you tried to tell yourself it was just because the sun had finally slipped beyond the far horizon, leaving you in a bruised twilight.

“Hey.”

You turned back around to find Cara was frowning now, eyebrows furrowed deeply as her lips pressed into a thin line, and she stared into the bowels of the ship for another moment before her gaze found yours.

“Take care of him, too,” she said. The amusement from earlier had faded from her tone, replaced instead with concern. “He’s been… different since the kid left.”

“I know,” you murmured, your heart twisting in your chest. “I’ll do my best with that, too.”

You just hoped your best was enough.

~~~~~

The ramp closed behind you with a clang a few minutes later, and you sighed as you dragged a hand through your knotted hair. It had been a while since you’d taken a full shower, and you winced when your fingers got tangled in the slightly greasy strands.

“You girls finally done?”

You jumped at Boba’s sudden drawl, your heart leaping into your throat as you snapped your head up.

The older bounty hunter sat sprawled in one of the four chairs on the lower level of _Slave 1._ Fennec stood behind him, casually leaning against the back of his chair, and Din sat in the seat opposite.

“Dank farrik, Fett,” you grumbled as you rubbed the skin over your heart while you took the last empty seat beside Din. “Way to give a gal a heart attack. And yes, we’re done, so we can go now, alright?”

“Ahh, but that’s where we encounter a problem,” Boba grunted.

“Problem?” you echoed with a frown, and you scooted forward in your seat as your heart started its own pod race in your chest. “What problem? Is something wrong with the ship? Is it Gideon? Did the carbonite malfunction? Or is it Bo-Katan? Did she find us already? Or—”

Din suddenly placed a hand on your knee, and when your words stumbled to a breathless stop, you realized you’d been panic rambling.

“Sorry,” you gasped, dots dancing in the corners of your vision, and you tried to focus on the grounding pressure of Din’s bare palm against your leg.

“Breathe,” he murmured softly, and even now, the rasp of his modulator set every hair on your body on end.

“Breathing,” you panted as your hands clenched and unclenched into fists in your lap, “but it might be easier if you just tell me what the problem is.”

“It’s not really a problem,” Din said, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your patella.

“Oh, really?” Boba’s voice was two parts mocking and one part amused, and he arched a scarred, hairless brow at the other bounty hunter. “Well, then, _Mand’alor._ Where to next?”

Din went rigid at the taunting title, and he was silent for a long time. So long that Boba’s eyes flicked to you, the scars on his face contorting as he furrowed his brow ever so slightly, a question clear in his gaze.

_What’s wrong with him?_

You wished you knew.

The silence stretched on for another minute. Two. Then Din’s hand suddenly tightened around your knee like a vise, his fingers digging almost painfully into the bone.

You suppressed a flinch and shot him a concerned glance, but he was still facing Boba, his profile imposing, his mask impenetrable.

And yet… you could see the finest tremor along the edges of him. Like he was a vibroknife, vibrating at such a high frequency it was nearly invisible to the naked eye. His breath was a degree harsher than usual as it rasped through his modulator, and you suddenly recognized his body language from that storage room, realizing with a start what it all meant.

Din didn’t know where to go next. He probably didn’t even know what to _do_ next, untethered from his Creed and foundling, adrift without a compass, without a purpose. He was unsure. Uncertain. _Lost._

This triggered something in you, a warm protectiveness that settled low in your gut, churning its way up your throat and off your tongue like an unstoppable flood.

“Tatooine,” you suddenly found yourself saying, your tongue a foreign entity curling in your mouth.

Din, Boba, and Fennec turned to look at you in unison, but no one was more surprised than you were.

“Why there?” Boba asked, always straight to the point, his brown eyes locking on yours.

“Why not?” You shrugged and tried to ignore the heavy feeling of Din’s gaze on your face.

“Kyrze will probably figure out to look for us there sooner or later,” Fennec pointed out. “Fett and I had a… well-known history of working for the Hutts.”

“True,” you allowed, “but it’s a good place to regroup for now. We all know the area, have contacts. I used to work for a mechanic named Peli Motto, out of a hanger in Mos Eisley. She’s a good friend. She’ll take us in for a time, maybe even point us in the direction of work or a… a new ship.”

You darted a glance at Din as you said the last bit, but he didn’t react in a way you could notice or measure.

“Hmmmm…” Boba stroked his chin as he considered your words, Fennec looking pensive, too, but then you were talking again before you could stop yourself.

“Plus, the Hutts have fallen into disarray ever since Jabba was killed,” you reminded the bounty hunter. “You most likely won’t have any trouble from them. Honestly, I’d be surprised if they were able to put up a fight at all.”

A slow smile spread across Boba’s face, his scars undulating across his features like writhing sand snakes, and a dark glint sparked to life in his equally dark eyes.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he rumbled, his voice teetering on the edge of laughter, and Fennec smirked at his side.

“Yeah?” You smiled faintly, and a kernel of relief unfurled in your chest. Then you turned to the Mandalorian beside you. “Does that sound alright to you?”

He shifted to face you more fully, your features dimly reflected in the glass T of his visor. You watched yourself blink once, twice, and then he nodded.

“Yes,” he said, voice flat and unaffected. “That’s fine.”

Your smile waned a fraction, but at least he answered you. He was still touching you, too, his hand a familiar, heavy weight on your thigh, so you tried not to get too lost in your own dark musings.

Soon, you’d be back in familiar territory, back on your homeworld, and you’d have a moment to breathe. A moment to think. You told yourself that once Din could have some space and time to process his feelings-- kriff, just some time to actually _sleep_ in a bed and not crammed into a seat, sealed into his armor _\--_ everything would be fine. 

Everything would be _fine._

At least… this is what you prayed to the Maker as Boba returned to the cockpit to input the new coordinates.

~~~

It took nearly another week to reach Tatooine, and even though you’d done long trips before, weeks of inky blackness and stars and no one around for hundreds of parsecs… this was different. You were practically coming out of your skin with restlessness the entire time, your nails already chewed to the quick, and you wondered, not for the first time, why you couldn’t have just all stayed on Nevarro.

You knew Mando’s reasoning, or at least the reasons he gave out loud, but as the days and nights of crammed space travel aboard the _Slave 1_ continued, a part of you wondered if Din himself just… couldn’t go back to Nevarro. Couldn’t go back to the place where so many of his kinsman had been slaughtered in cold blood, especially now that he was without the foundling that he had risked his entire covert for.

You didn’t have the guts to ask if your theory was fact. So, you kept quiet as the ship continued on to Tatooine, and Din did, too.

Except he kept _really quiet._

Cara had noticed it before, but as the days went on, it only grew more apparent.

He barely spoke at all, and what little he did say was mundane. He hadn’t said a single _word_ about anything that happened on Gideon’s cruiser. Nothing. Not about Grogu, the Jedi, Bo-Katan, the Dark Saber on his hip, or the Imperial bastard frozen in Fett’s storage.

He especially hadn’t commented on your confession of love and the subsequent kisses the two of you shared.

You would have thought you hallucinated the scene in the storage closet entirely, except the usually stoic Mandalorian had been glued to your side since you boarded Fett’s ship. Din sat in the seat beside you on _Slave 1_ ’s lower level, his body hot and rigid against your side, his palm a constant searing pressure on your knee or thigh. The touching was new, but certainly not unwelcome, yet you still found yourself wishing he would just _say_ something. You tried to catch his eye several times, but with his helmet back in place he was once again an unreadable silver mask.

And then, when you tried to reciprocate his touch silently instead, place your hand on his, stroke his arm, he seized up every time like he’d taken a blast from his pulse rifle, the breath stilling in his chest until you moved away.

You didn’t understand.

You didn’t understand why he was acting like this now, but you tried not to take offense. You told yourself the bounty hunter had gone through a lot of trauma in a short amount of time. He’d lost his ship and his son, broken the Creed he’d sworn his entire life to, and somehow won the mantle of Mand’alor, ruler of his ruined ancestral home. Now, he was stuffed in a tiny tin-can in the middle of nowhere space, being hunted by a former princess so he could be attacked, defeated, and usurped.

It was a lot. You knew it was a lot. Plus, you knew Din was a private person, and quarters were close on the _Slave 1_. You didn’t expect him to sing you ballads in front of everyone, to whisper sweet Mando’a nothings in your ear. In fact, you told yourself expecting _anything_ right now was selfish, callous. There were so many other pressing issues vastly more important than your would-be romance problems _._

And yet, still… it hurt. Every time you looked at him, every time he brushed against you, every time you woke up with a start in your chair with the memory of what his lips felt like against yours, it hurt.

But you continued to remind yourself that your mere slighted feelings paled in comparison to everything the Mandalorian was going through, so… you kept your bruised ego and hear to yourself.

You sighed for the umpteenth time as you stared out one of the ship’s windows, the stars streaking by like water droplets on glass. Boba and Fennec were both up in the cockpit, so it was quiet on the lower level, your ears nearly ringing in the silence. Din’s hand was on your leg again, but when you turned to look at him, his helmet didn’t shift to meet your gaze. He could have been asleep but… something told you he wasn’t, and your heart jerked unsteadily in your chest.

“Din,” you whispered. You didn’t mean to. You didn’t even know what you wanted to say, but it didn’t matter in the end.

He didn’t respond, didn’t even flinch, not even when you murmured his name a second time.

You bit your lip and glanced down at his calloused fingers enveloping your knee, and even though you could feel the warmth of his skin through your thin pants, you thought the Mandalorian had never seemed so far away from you.

~~~

 _Slave 1_ finally landed in Hanger 3-5 just as Tatooine’s dual suns were kissing the horizon. Nearly two weeks had passed since you’d fled Gideon’s cruiser, a little under a week since you dropped off Dune, and even if hot sand had never been your favorite, you took a bracing breath of fresh, non-recycled air as you stepped off the ship’s ramp and onto familiar sandy ground.

You stretched your arms over your head and basked in the red, waning sunlight, your eyes slipping shut as you forgot all about your troubles for just a moment. This place had never been home to you, not truly, but it still stirred a sense of nostalgia and familiarity within you all the same.

“Kriff, girlie, you look as skittish as a womp rat. As haggard as one, too.”

You opened your eyes and smiled at the short woman in front of you with her hands on her hips, the dying sun glinting off her curls and the smudge of grease across her cheek.

“Hey, Peli,” you greeted. “Missed you, too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the mechanic huffed and rolled her eyes, but she still stepped forward and wrapped you in a quick hug. Then she darted back and clapped her hands together, her gaze jumping over your shoulder as she rose up on her tip-toes. “Alright, now, where’s the little guy? I’ve got some treats inside that I saw at the market and knew he would love the next time you blew through town.”

The smile immediately died on your face, and you shifted your weight from foot to foot, one hand coming up to rub at the back of your neck. The other hand made it halfway to your mouth before you remembered your nail beds were already a torn and bloody mess, so you quickly tucked your fingers into your pants to curb the anxious habit.

Peli knew all your anxious habits, though. Knew you better than any other being in the galaxy, having taken you in as a wayward teen after this sandy planet ate you up and spat you out. Her face fell as she stared at you, and her hands hung limp at her sides.

“No,” she murmured, something like horror building in her eyes. “He’s not…”

“He’s alive,” you hurried to reassure her. “We got him back from the Imps unharmed.”

“Oh…” Peli frowned, confusion replacing horror. “Then where is he? And why do you look like that?”

“Like what?” you asked, suddenly self-conscious of your greasy hair and wrinkled, dirty clothing.

“Like someone broke your heart,” she said bluntly.

Her words struck a little too close to home, as always, but you tried to brush it off with a fake smile.

“I would have to have a heart for that to happen,” you joked. “We both know mine shriveled up years ago under these two Maker-forsaken suns.”

“Hmph, and we both know _that’s_ a load of bantha dung,” the mechanic grunted, her eyes narrowing on you dangerously. “You didn’t answer my question, girlie. What happened to the little guy?”

You sighed and opened your mouth to reply but didn’t get the chance to.

“He’s been returned to his people.”

You and Peli jumped in unison and turned to look at the Mandalorian standing several feet away at the base of the ship’s ramp. His silhouette was painted in shadows and the deep reds of sunset, and despite the emotional turmoil you’d been through in the last two weeks, your core throbbed at the sight of him.

“His people?” Peli echoed and drew you from your traitorous, horny thoughts. “You mean…”

“Yes,” Din said curtly. “We encountered a Jedi who will train the kid to use his powers.”

“Oh,” the mechanic murmured, and her petite figure seemed to deflate a few more inches. “For how long?”

“Don’t know,” the Mandalorian replied, his voice giving away nothing. “But my ship was destroyed, and your former apprentice mentioned you might have some temporary lodging for us.”

“Oh, did she?” Peli scoffed as her eyes darted to you, but you tried to silently convey that now was _not_ the time to mess with Mando. Thankfully, she must have picked up on this, because the mechanic turned back to the bounty hunter and nodded. “I might be able to help you. For a fee, of course.”

“Peli,” you groaned and rolled your eyes. “Come on.”

“Alright, alright!” The petite woman tossed her hands in the air. “Seeing as you’re homeless and particularly pathetic looking once again, girlie, I’ll offer the same deal I gave you years ago. Food and lodging for labor as long as you’re in my hanger.”

“Fine,” you sighed, rubbing a hand across your tired face. “I’ll start in the morning. Now, we’ve had a long trip, so can we use your fresher? Maybe get some food?”

“All of you?” Peli asked with an arched eyebrow, her eyes skipping past you, past Din, and into the bowels of the ship once more.

You followed her line of sight and saw Boba and Fennec standing in the shadows like imposing sentinels.

“Yes,” you said as you waved the older bounty hunter and assassin over. “These are our… new friends.”

“Well, that’s gonna cost you double then,” Peli said matter-of-factly.

“Actually,” Boba rumbled as his boots clunked down the ramp until he was standing just behind you and beside Din, “it won’t.”

Peli actually paled a little as she stared up at the tall and intimidating bounty hunter, and her throat clicked as she swallowed. “W-Well, I-I…”

“It’s fine,” you cut off your former mentor’s stuttering before you turned to address Boba. “You saved our asses a few times, Fett, so I owe you. Won’t be much, but we can at least offer you some food and a bunk to crash in.”

“Tempting offer, little one.” Boba smirked. “But we have some… unfinished business to attend to out in the Dune Sea.”

“Oh?” You frowned. This was the first you were hearing of this. “Tonight?”

The bounty hunter inclined his head. “Sooner the better.”

“But we just got in,” you argued. “At least stay the night, rest, recharge. Then, if you need some help, we can all go in the morning.”

“Never said we needed help,” Boba chuckled, the sound rough and gritty like the sandstorms that roamed this planet.

“Your offer is fairly cute, though,” Fennec added with her own amused smirk.

“We’ll contact you in a few days, after we’ve all ‘rested’ and ‘recharged,’” the older bounty hunter teased you before his gaze skipped to Din. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep the imp in cold storage. Ping us if the princess shows up.”

“Princess?” Peli gasped, but you shook your head at her to signal that you’d explain later.

“Got it,” Din said, reaching out to clasp the other Mandalorian’s arm. “Watch your back. And… thank you. For everything.”

“Yes, thank you,” you added hurriedly as you jabbed your own hand out. “We wouldn’t have made it without your help or your ship.”

“Don’t mention it, little one,” Boba chuckled, and he was decidedly gentle when he took your hand and shook it. Then he jerked his head at Fennec, who nodded a silent goodbye before she turned and made her way back into the ship. He began to follow suit before he paused and glanced back at Din. “Ret’urcye mhi, ner vod.”

Din nodded back. “K’oyacyi, burc’ya.”

The lilting language of Mando’a sent a shiver up your spine despite the residual desert heat, and you wished, not for the first time, that you could understand the beautiful words.

With one last nod to the pair of you, Boba Fett climbed up the ramp into _Slave 1,_ and moments later you, Din, and Peli were watching the ship soar off in the direction of the Dune Sea, the moon just barely rising over the far horizon.

For a moment, you wondered about the bounty hunter’s so called “unfinished business,” but you decided it was probably best not to know.

“Well!” Peli clapped her hands together loudly, and the pit droids startled to attention from where they’d been hiding in the shadows. “Who’s hungry?”

~~~

“Sorry about that,” you sighed almost a full hour later. “Peli could always talk. I think it’s because she spends most of her days with droids. Seems my absence hasn’t helped much in that regard, either.”

Din made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat as you led him down the cramped and cluttered halls of Hanger 3-5. The corridor was just big enough for the two of you to walk abreast, but small enough that you kept bumping into the quiet Mandalorian. Once again, he’d barely said a word as Peli talked both of your ears off while she threw some dinner together. You didn’t think the mechanic had noticed, but you certainly had, and the silence was pressing down on you again like a heavy and oppressive blanket.

“Dank farrik!” you cursed as you tripped over another spare part strewn across the hallway. You could barely see the metal hunk of scrap in the dim lighting, and you went to kick it away in a fit of frustration, but the sole of your boot slid on another unseen piece of something, and you teetered off balance, arms pinwheeling to try and regain your equilibrium.

“Careful.” Din’s fingers suddenly wrapped around your elbow, and he steadied you without even jostling the tray of food he held for himself in his other hand.

Sparks arced out from where his skin touched yours, and you found yourself subconsciously leaning into him, realizing how close you were in this tight hallway. Your chests were practically pressed together now that you were facing each other, and as you stared up at your reflection in the visor of his helmet, you recalled what it felt like to kiss him, to touch him.

The memory seemed like a fever dream, like something you crafted deep in the bowels of your psyche because you were damaged and lonely and horny. It didn’t seem real.

But it had been. You were sure of it. You had personally experienced the passion behind the bounty hunter’s lips, his tongue, seen your own desire reflected in his dark-chocolate eyes.

So, why did it feel like a stranger was standing before you?

The image of him standing on _Slave 1’s_ ramp, bathed in the crimsons and scarlets of sunset, flashed in your mind’s eye, and you wondered if he was like a star going redshift, moving further and further away from your current position.

A sudden and intense emotion welled up in your chest. It felt hot and pressurized, like a volcano on the verge of eruption, but before it reached its boiling point, Din dropped your elbow and stepped away from you.

Ice replaced the magma in your veins, and you were left hollow and cold.

“Thanks,” you muttered around the lump in your throat, turning away from the Mandalorian. “Come on. It’s just through here.”

You moved down the hall without glancing back, but you heard the bounty hunter trailing quietly after you, your own personal shadow.

At the end of the corridor, you took a sharp right and came to a door, beige, dirty, and nondescript like the rest of the hanger. You punched the button to the right of the threshold with a little more force than necessary, and the door slid open with a hiss of hydraulics.

The room beyond was small, cluttered, and dusty, more wires and pieces of machinery piled up in the corners and around a work desk shoved up against the far wall. The bed was centered along the wall to the right, and even though it was your old, shitty mattress, bare of sheets, you almost moaned in relief. That would feel like a luxury after the cot you slept on in the _Razor Crest_ , or the chair you’d crammed yourself into aboard _Slave 1_.

Not that you’d get to sleep in it anyway, since you’d probably find a pallet to sleep on and give the bounty hunter the bed, but you shoved the thought and your disappointment away.

“Sorry about the mess,” you muttered, and you kicked junk out of your way to clear a path to the bed. “I thought Peli would clean up in here after I left, but apparently not.”

“It’s fine.” Din trailed after you, picking his way carefully over broken metal and sharp wires.

“Take a seat on the bed or at the desk, whatever you want,” you said as you gestured in either direction.

The bounty hunter paused about a foot away from you, glanced around for a moment, and then perched himself on the edge of the bed, his plate balanced on the edge of his thigh. His helmet was suddenly level with your belly, and you were close enough and the room small enough that you were almost standing between his legs, and your throat grew tight all over again.

You waited for him to say something, to look at you, but he did neither.

“Right,” you muttered as you stumbled back a step. Then you turned and marched stiffly to the door. “Enjoy your plate. I’ll go get you some sheets and pillows and be back in a bit.”

“Is there a fresher I could use?” he asked from behind you.

You nodded without turning around, hand poised on the door’s button. “Walk straight out of this door and halfway down the corridor, and it’s the second door on your right.”

“Thank you,” he said, perfectly polite, and yet it still felt like he was twisting the knife deeper into your gut.

“You’re welcome,” you replied before you punched the button and let the door slide open with another hiss. “I’ll be back soon with sheets.”

Then you slipped through the door and jogged down the hall, and when Din called after you, you told yourself it was just your imagination.

~~~

You took a little longer than you intended returning to your room and the Mandalorian within.

You’d intended to go out, hunt down a pair of clean sheets, blankets, and pillows, and give Din just enough time to eat and put his helmet back on. If he wanted to. But you had no idea what he wanted now. You thought you did, but…

So, instead, you ran back in the direction of the docking bay. There was a second, smaller fresher there, usually only used in emergencies so it didn’t even have a heated option, but you would make do. You just wanted, no _needed,_ to wash the last two weeks off you.

You scrubbed your body neon pink in the freezing cold spray, and then you just took a moment to stand there, close your eyes, and gather your thoughts.

This… silent dance couldn’t go on between you and Din. Something had to give, and you knew it was going to be you. You had to get him to talk, to say something, _anything._ Living in this limbo was driving you insane. You needed to confront him, even if a part of you was terrified to do so.

But you had to know the truth.

If… if he regretted his actions and his words in that storage closet, then fine. You could… you could figure something out. It wouldn’t kill you. You would survive.

At least you hoped.

You stalled for a few more minutes, but you knew you were only prolonging the inevitable, so you finally summoned up every scrap of courage you still had and stepped out of the fresher.

A fresh towel and your old night clothes were folded on the table to the right of the stall, and a small smile tugged at your lips regardless of the pit in your stomach.

You couldn’t believe Peli had kept your old clothes. You’d have to find a way to thank the mechanic without actually thanking her, since she professed to “hate” sentimentality.

The oversized shirt and worn-thin pants felt like sliding on a second skin, and you sighed with pleasure as you burrowed into the soft material. Then you spotted a small crate in front of the door, and when you went to investigate, you found it full of sheets, blankets, and pillows.

“And I’m the sentimental one,” you snorted to yourself as you picked up the crate and hit the door button with your hip.

You shook your head and chuckled under your breath as you made your way down the silent hallway, and you realized it must have been later than you thought. You couldn’t hear Peli or the droids clanking away near the docking bay anymore, and the kitchen was empty and dark when you passed it, too. Everyone must have turned in or off for the night, and you suddenly felt bad that you’d left Din alone in your messy old room for so long.

You quickened your pace a little, bare feet slapping against the cool tiled floor, and you took extra care not to cut yourself on any stray scrap. The crate you carried wasn’t particularly heavy, but it was awkward and bulky, so you had to stop frequently to huff, curse, and adjust your grip.

As you drew closer and closer to your old quarters, though, a creeping dread stole up your legs and settled like lead in your gut. You finally paused just outside the door, and the blood was pounding in your ears, the ends of your hair dripping water down your spine and wracking your frame with shivers.

A breath shuddered past your lips, and you closed your eyes as you clutched the crate against your hip until your fingers ached. In the darkness behind your lids, you saw Din standing in that storage closet two weeks ago, even inch of him open and vulnerable, his brown eyes like amber that you wanted to be trapped in forever.

 _Open your eyes,_ he had said. _Please. Look at me._

You opened your eyes and felt resolve settle in the line of your spine. You hadn’t imagined that. It had happened. It was _real._

You would no longer pretend like it wasn’t.

So, you took a deep breath, knocked once on the door, and pressed the button to open it.

~~~

Din sat rigidly on the edge of the bed, in the exact spot you had left him. Except now his beskar was piled up neatly on the work desk in the corner, the silver armor glinting in the faint light of the lamp below the small, round porthole window, and he was wearing a set of unfamiliar brown clothes. The shirt and pant combo were made of simple cloth with little embellishments, but the fabric looked comfortable enough. And it seemed clean, which was a right sight better than anything you or Din owned at the moment.

The outfit appeared strange when paired with the helmet still perched atop his head, but you didn’t comment on it.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to make you wait so long,” you murmured as you slipped into the room, the door hissing shut behind you. “I got the sheets and stuff but decided to jump in the fresher for a minute.”

“It’s fine,” Din replied, and he slid to his feet and held out his hands in one smooth motion. “Here.”

“Thanks,” you said as you passed him the bulky crate, which he lifted with ease and set at the foot of the bed.

The quiet bounty hunter immediately set about digging through the crate and pulling out various sheets, and you took a moment to glance around the room. Even in the dim lighting, you noticed it was much cleaner than you had left it, scrap stacked in neater piles in the corners. You also hadn’t cut your bare feet on any spare slivers of metal, and you wiggled your toes against the cool floor gratefully.

“You didn’t have to clean,” you said as you turned back to the Mandalorian, who was currently struggling to wrap one of the sheets around the mattress corners.

“Didn’t mind,” he grunted before one of the corners pulled free and he was back at square one. “Dank farrik!”

“Let me help,” you chuckled softly, stepping forward and tugging the sheets from his clenched hands. “This mattress was always a pain.”

Din shifted back a little to give you room, and you got to work. It had been a while since you’d made this bed, but the muscle memory came back to you easily enough, and a few minutes later you were tossing down the pillows on a freshly made mattress.

“Ta-da!” You grinned as you glanced over at Din, now sitting at your work desk in an old, beat-up chair, and you realized his feet were also bare. The sight was strangely intimate. You’d never seen that part of him before, and your gaze traced the delicate arches of his soles.

“What?” the bounty hunter asked after a moment.

“Sorry.” You shook your head as you snapped back to yourself. “I was just… thinking those clothes look comfortable.”

“Oh.” He glanced down at himself, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Yes, they are. Peli had one of the droids drop them off after I hopped out of the fresher.”

“I swear, she’s getting soft in her old age,” you muttered fondly, but then you froze as you watched Din reach up for the edge of his helmet.

A hiss echoed through the room a moment later, and you dropped your eyes before you could stop yourself.

“What are you doing?”

Déjà vu washed over you like a cold wave, sending shivers down your spine and raising goosebumps along your flesh. You had been in this moment before.

“What?” you asked helplessly, almost like you were following a kriffing script.

“Is looking at me so offensive?”

 _You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen._ The words echoed in your mind, the taste of them playing across your tongue.

“You know that’s not true,” you muttered, but you still couldn’t raise your eyes.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“Because I…” you started, paused, trailed off. Your hands clenched around nothing, empty, and you bent down to smooth a crease out of the bed covers so you wouldn’t start picking at your ruined cuticles.

“You…?” Din prompted, but his voice was much softer all of the sudden, like it had been back on that cruiser, when it was just the two of you alone in a small room.

Like you were right now.

You sighed and collapsed to sit on the edge of the bed, the old frame creaking beneath your weight. You took a moment, two, to gather your thoughts and your courage, and then you looked up at the man across from you.

His beard had filled out more in the last few weeks, but it still grew in patches across his cheeks and jawline, glints of silver threaded through in between. Those full lips were pressed into a thin line below his dark mustache, and a severe furrow was etched above his dark, fathomless eyes, only made darker by the bruises of insomnia beneath them.

The sight of him still took your breath away, set your heart to racing, your blood to pounding, but you remembered you had been saying something, and you dug your nails into your palms to ground yourself.

“Because I don’t know where I stand with you,” you finished as you looked the bounty hunter square in the eye. “I-I don’t know where _we_ stand. Some… things were said and done on Gideon’s cruiser, but these… things haven’t been discussed, so one might think that… someone… regrets these… things.”

Din frowned at you as he deciphered your jumbled words, the furrow between his eyebrows carving deeper into his skin. “You regret—”

“No!” you immediately cut him off, your voice a little too loud in the small, dim room. You flushed in the darkness and was grateful he couldn’t see it, your fingers dropping to twist around each other in your lap. “No. N-Not me. _I,_ personally, don’t, uh, regret anything.”

Some of the creases in the bounty hunter’s face lessened a few degrees, and if the lamp behind him wasn’t throwing so many shadows, you would have sworn you saw relief in his chocolate eyes.

“So… you think _I_ regret something, then?” he asked after a few beats of silence.

“Well…” You shrugged, averting your eyes to the far wall. “Do you? I can’t tell. Your hand was on my leg almost the entire way here, but you’ve barely said two words to me since we left Gideon’s cruiser. I… I know you’ve been through a lot, but you don’t have to go through it alone. I can help. If you let me.”

For a moment, the two of you just breathed in silence, the howling desert winds outside an accompanying lullaby. You fidgeted on the bed, realized you were picking at your nails again, and then shoved your hands under your thighs. With nothing else to distract you, your resolve crumbled, and your eyes skipped back to the Mandalorian.

Din was staring at you with a tortured expression, the muscle in his jaw ticking sporadically. He met your gaze for a heartbeat, your stomach bottoming out within you, and then he was the one to drop his eyes, look away.

“I… don’t regret kissing you,” he said at length, and just the admission of the deed was enough to release a riot of butterflies in your stomach. “But the longer I thought about it, the more I realized… it’s unfair to you.”

The butterflies froze mid-flight.

“What do you mean, it’s not ‘fair to me?’” you echoed, trying to catch his eye, but he stared resolutely at the floor.

“It’s not fair,” he reiterated calmly, like he was making any sense at all, but you saw how his knuckles had gone bone bleached white as he clenched his fists in his lap. “I… truly have nothing to offer you except the promise of future violence. I’m… I’m dar’manda. I have no ship, no money, no prospects, no purpose. Bo-Katan will find me sooner or later, and when she does—”

“Wait.” You held up your hand and stopped him mid-sentence. “Are you serious? You’re back to this again? Din, we talked about this. I told you none of that mattered.”

“But it does,” he argued, and when his eyes snapped up to meet yours, you were surprised by the fire in them. “It does matter. You’re young, intelligent, talented… Beautiful. You deserve someone you can make a life with. Someone who can provide for you, protect you, cherish you, until you’re both old and gray. All I can offer you is a hard existence that will likely be cut short by the business end of a blaster.”

You blinked in what felt like slow motion and stared at the Mandalorian across from you for what seemed like an eternity. _This_ was why he’d been pulling away from you? Because he didn’t think he deserved you, was worthy of you? Hysterical laughter bubbled in the back of your throat, but you swallowed it down as you tried to gather the words for your response.

This ridiculous man of duty, of honor. You loved him with every fiber of your being.

“Answer me one question,” you said as you met his gaze without flinching. “Do you care for me?”

Din blinked, the surprise nearly startling the frown right off his lips. “What does that have—”

“It’s a simple question,” you interjected, and you were impressed with how level your voice sounded, how steady you felt as you stared potential happiness or heartbreak right in the face. “Do. You. Care. For. Me?”

“I… I…”

“Are you attracted to me?” you rephrased the question, then followed up before he had a chance to answer. “Do you want me? Desire me by your side? Yes or no? Forget about everything you just said. I only want to know the answers to _my_ questions.”

Din ground his teeth, clearly frustrated with your steamrolling, but when you simply cocked an eyebrow at him, he abruptly went limp in his chair, the tension wrung from his body like water from a rag. He ran a hand across his tired face, back through his dark hair, still damp and curly with moisture from the fresher, and let his fingers rest on the nape of his neck. The sigh that left him sounded like it was dragged up from the depths of his soul.

“Yes,” he muttered, sounding more defeated than you had ever heard him. “Yes, cyar’ika. I care about you. I want you. I desire you. Even though I shouldn’t. Even though it’s to your own detriment.”

You wanted to laugh again but refrained. This poor man thought he was ruining your life when in fact he was doing the exact opposite.

“Come here,” you said as your heart fluttered like a thousand tiny birds in your chest, and you patted the empty space beside you on the bed.

The Mandalorian regarded you silently for a moment, debating, but then he sighed again, dragged himself out of the chair, and came to sit gingerly beside you on the foot of the bed. The mattress wasn’t very big, so his arm brushed yours even though he was trying to lean as far away from you as he could.

“I want you to see something,” you murmured before you shifted slightly to give the bounty hunter your back. Then you reached up to sweep your hair over your shoulder, baring the nape of your neck. “There. Can you see it?”

“What am I looking for?” Din asked as he leaned over a little, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. “Wait… what’s this?”

His hand came up, calloused fingers feathering across the base of your skull.

“That,” you whispered, voice hushed and subdued, “is where Peli dug out my transmitter chip around ten years ago.”

“Transmitter chip?” He froze behind you. “You mean…”

“Yup.” You nodded and turned to face him, searching for his dark eyes in the dimness. “I used to be a slave. It was a long time ago, and my life has certainly taken a turn for the better more recently, but let me tell you… I’ve seen and experienced terrible things. The worst of the worst. And that was all before I even met you. I’m not a damsel, Din. I don’t need a protector. And I don’t want some moisture farmer husband to grow gray and bored with. I want you. You and only you, Din Djarin. This is _my_ choice, after so many years of not having any. So, let Bo-Katan do her worst. We’ll deal with her when the time comes, _together_. And in the meantime, we’ll figure out what to do next. Also together. Okay?”

Din stared down at you like his brain was still processing everything you just said, so to help him out, you picked up one of his limp hands and pressed it to your cheek.

“Please stop pushing me away,” you murmured, turning to nuzzle and kiss the center of his palm. “Please.”

“I’m sorry, cyare,” he rasped, and his voice cracked around the Mando’a word. Then he was leaning forward and pressing his forehead against yours, his shaky breath fanning over your face as his eyes slipped closed. “I’m sorry. I-I’m not any good at this.”

“That’s okay,” you breathed as you reached up to cup his jaw, shivering at the prickly hairs of his scruff. “We’ll learn as we go. But we have to communicate, to say if something is bothering us or if there’s something we want. That’s the foundation of a healthy relationship. ”

Din opened his eyes, mere inches from your own, and you realized there were lighter flecks of gold scattered through his irises like stars, like galaxies. “Something we want?”

The timber of his voice rumbled over you like thunder across the sand dunes, and you shuddered as you leaned into him subconsciously.

“Y-Yes.” You nodded shakily, tongue darting out to wet your suddenly dry lips. The tips of your ears were warm now, too, and you wondered if he could see how red you were turning. “I-If you want something, all you have to do is c-communicate that clearly.”

“Hmm…” His hand was still cupping half your face, thumb ghosting over the arch of your cheekbone, the skin warming up degree by degree. Now, his dark-chocolate gaze seemed pitch-black in the shadows of the dim light behind him, and the weight of his stare pinned you to the bed. “I would like to kiss you again, mesh’la.”

The breath whooshed out of your lungs so fast your head spun, and you used your other hand to steady yourself on his knee.

“I would very much like that, too,” you breathed. Your heart was pounding so hard in your ears, you barely heard your own words, but that didn’t matter.

Din heard them because a moment later he was leaning in, one hand rooted on your cheek while the other slipped behind your neck to settle over the small patch of scar tissue at your nape. You shuddered at his touch, but then his lips were softly brushing against yours, and the sparks you felt short-circuited every neuron in your brain.

This kiss was decidedly smoother than the first one the two of you shared, and you noticed how gently the bounty hunter moved, his lips coaxing yours open with easy motions and soft but insistent pressure. Then his tongue swiped across your lower lip, a move he learned from you, and you moaned into his mouth as you scooted closer, trying to close the distance between you, electricity flooding through all your nerves.

Suddenly, you were in his lap without remembering how you’d gotten there, your knees on either side of his pelvis, your arms thrown around his neck. Din’s calloused hands had fallen from your face and neck to settle around your hips, and he kneaded them firmly as your tongue delved into his mouth, running along his teeth, across his hard palate, trying to memorize every inch of him. He tasted of Peli’s dinner and a mint cleaner he must have used in the fresher, but underneath that was Din: metal, smoke, and blaster residue. You dug deep chasing that flavor and then pulled it back into your mouth with a gasp, saliva connecting your mouth to his like a living, quivering bridge.

You slid your tongue out gently, swiping up the translucent thread, and Din groaned deep in his gut as his fingers dug into your hips.

“Cyar’ika,” he rumbled, looking up at you with a kiss-swollen mouth, spit glistening on his reddened lips.

“What do you want?” you panted as your hips rocked down absentmindedly. Your hands were buried in his hair, and you gently twisted his soft curls around your fingers. “Tell me, Din. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

The Mandalorian’s pupils dilated as he licked his lips, his own hips twitching below yours. You could just barely feel something solid beneath you, but you remained poised on your knees until the bounty hunter gave you an answer.

“I want you,” he rasped after he collected his thoughts enough to respond.

“Mmm, you’re going to have to be more specific, sweetheart,” you cooed, leaning down to feather kisses across his brow, the bridge of his nose, and each cheek. “Tell me what you _want_.”

“I-I want to make love to you.”

You froze completely, every tendon and muscle in your body going taut as you held yourself above the bounty hunter. You pulled away a fraction, then two, needing to put some distance between you and get some blood running back into your brain. Then you stared straight into Din’s eyes and immediately lost yourself in the abyss of his blown pupils.

“What did you say?” you mumbled, needing confirmation, half-convinced your lust-addled mind was playing tricks on you.

But Din didn’t even blink as he repeated, “I want to make love to you, cyare. If… if that is something you want as well.”

“Yes!” you blurted out practically before he could finish his sentence. Your cheeks flared at your own eagerness, and you bit your lip as you settled your palms flat against his shoulders. “I mean, yes, I do want that as well. Also. With you. I just…”

You hesitated here, chewing on your words.

“What is it?” Din prompted, some of the lust fading from his expression as he regarded you seriously.

You didn’t want to ruin the mood, but you’d told him clear communication was key, so you decided to follow his example and say what was on your mind.

“I just want to make sure this is something you _really_ want,” you explained as you scooted back a little and sat on the edge of his knees so you could see him clearly. “I don’t want you to regret anything later, especially if, uh, this is your first time?”

A faint flush of color painted itself across Din’s cheeks, and his eyes dropped to your collarbone. His thumbs were brushing phantom circles over the juts of your hips, and his long eyelashes cast reaching shadows down his cheeks.

You’d said the last bit like it was a question because it was. The Mandalorian had previously revealed that he’d never kissed anyone before you, but that didn’t necessarily mean he’d never had sex before. He could have kept the helmet on during any prior trysts, for all you knew.

That image alone— Din, naked save the helmet—was enough to reignite the embers in your belly, but you shoved your own selfish desire away as you focused on the man before you.

He was silent for a few moments more, but then he nodded his head minutely.

So, a virgin through and through.

Wetness abruptly pooled in your panties, and you swallowed back the whimper building in your throat.

“Is… is that okay?” he muttered when you were quiet for too long, lost in your own lust.

“V-Very okay,” you said, your voice impressively even given how the blood in your veins had suddenly been replaced with burning magma. “Better than okay. Amazing, really. T-Thank you for trusting me with such an honor. But, just to be sure, I’m going to ask again. Do you want this here, right now, with me? Any part of that equation can change if you want it to, no questions asked.”

“I’ve dreamt of making love to you for months, mesh’la,” Din confessed, his hands tightening around your hips and tugging you down onto the prominent bulge in his pants, forcing a gasp from your lips. “Almost every day for the past two weeks, in fact. I never let myself believe I’d ever truly have the honor, but if you will give me this gift, nothing in this Maker-forsaken universe will make me regret it.”

This time, you were unsuccessful in stifling your whimpers.

“Okay,” you panted, and all the fight went out of you as you began rocking your hips into his and groaning when his hard shaft bumped against your suddenly sensitive clit. “Okay, then yes, please. Make love to me. I want you to make love to me, Din.”

The Mandalorian growled in the back of his throat, and his fingers dug into the meat of your hips, keeping you rooted against him as he bucked upwards. His bulge dragged up your wet slit and bumped into your bundle of nerves again, and even through the dual layers of fabric you were both wearing, the sensation caused your eyes to roll back into your head.

“Dank farrik,” Din grunted as he stared up at you, pupils blown wide and darker than the reaches of deep space. “You are so beautiful, cyare. W-What do you want? What can I do?”

A tendril of confusion wiggled through your lust-addled brain. You wanted him to fuck you. Hadn’t you made that clear?

But when you shook your head to clear the red haze of desire that had settled over your vision and met the bounty hunter’s eyes, you saw the uncertainty there. The hesitation. Then you thought back to the first time _you_ had sex, and you remembered how you hadn’t known a damn thing.

This was all new to the Mandalorian. Every moment of it.

And you wanted to give him the best, most pleasurable experience possible.

“Do you trust me?” you murmured as you reached up and cupped his face.

“Yes,” Din answered without any hesitation, and the look in his eyes was borderline reverential as he turned his head to kiss your palm. “Always.”

The admission warmed you up like several shots of spotchka, and unable to help yourself, you leaned down and seized his lips in a kiss, delving your tongue into his mouth to remind yourself of how he tasted.

“Okay, then let me take care of you,” you whispered when you pulled back, feathering kisses across his jawline and down to his neck.

“But I want to make you feel… good,” he started to argue but gasped when you sucked on his Adam’s apple, his bristles poking at your lips in a way that made you clench your thighs together.

“This _is_ making me feel good,” you purred as you slowly slid off his lap. “But if you ever want me to stop, just say so, okay?”

Din nodded mutely, his hands reaching out and trying to grab you before you could move too far away.

“I need to hear you say it,” you coaxed, and you stepped back into the V of his thighs so he had to crane his head back to look at you. “If you don’t like something, or want me to stop for any reason, you tell me.”

“Yes,” the bounty hunter rasped, his palms latching on to the curves of your hips again. “I’ll tell you to stop.”

“Good,” you said as you dragged one of your hands through his hair while the other hand snaked down his chest.

The fabric of his borrowed shirt was thin enough that you could feel ever bulge of muscle and scar tissue underneath, and Din shivered as you brushed past his navel. Your index finger toyed with the waistband of his pants, the tip dipping just underneath the elastic, and Din’s stilted breaths turned into harsh panting. You knew his throbbing member lied just a few more inches south, but you abruptly withdrew your finger and instead tugged on the hem of his shirt.

“Can I remove this?” you asked into his ear, tongue coming out to flick against his earlobe.

“Yes,” Din grunted and tried to tug you back into his lap.

“Uh-uh-uh,” you chuckled as you widened your stance and straightened up so he couldn’t pull you off balance. “Not yet. Just relax and let me take care of you. I promise to make you feel good.”

The bounty hunter groaned deep in his chest, but he stopped trying to drag you into his lap. His palms stayed glued to your hips, though, and one of them even slid back to grab hold of your ass cheek. 

His tight grip and the way his eyes were glued to you rapturously made a moan rattle in your throat, and you couldn’t help slamming your lips against his again as both of your hands dropped to yank his shirt up. You broke away to tug the fabric up over his head and toss it to the side, and you’d planned to dive back into the kiss, but the sight of his shirtless torso froze every atom in your body.

The first thing you noticed was the scars. Dozens of them, big and small and every size and shape in between. They peppered his chest and abdomen like constellations, painting the Mandalorian’s history, drawing a map of every little pain he had ever endured. Most of them were old, the tissue ropy and white with age, but there were some pink ones, still fresh and tender along his arms, over the curve of his shoulder. You wanted to press your lips to every single hurt etched into his skin, memorize the feel of them, learn their stories. Then you wanted to trace them with your tongue while you whispered the tales back to him until he was writhing under you from over stimulation.

“Pfassk,” you breathed as your eyes tried to absorb every inch of him. “You’re gorgeous, Din.”

The bounty hunter huffed out a noise between a laugh and a scoff, but his cheeks flushed endearingly as his hands clenched and unclenched in his lap, an anxious habit that was quickly becoming familiar to you.

“You are,” you pressed, your hand coming up and ghosting just above his clavicle. You paused before you touched him and ducked down to catch his eye. “May I?”

Din swallowed thickly. “Yes. Please.”

You smiled at the fact that he verbally responded this time, and then you softly dragged just the tips of your fingers across his collarbone and down to his sternum. His chest was corded with muscle but not overly so, and a smattering of dark hair trailed down to his navel and beyond. The Mandalorian shivered beneath your touch, his own hands locking onto his knees with a white-knuckled grip, and his dark eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks as his eyes slipped closed.

“Beautiful,” you murmured as you paused over his heart and pressed your palm into his warm skin. His heart pounded out a staccato rhythm beneath the cage of his ribs, and his breath caught audibly when your thumb brushed over one of his pebbled brown nipples.

You liked that reaction, so you did it again, and the bounty hunter inhaled so sharply it was almost a whine.

“Does that feel good?” you asked, looking up to gauge his expression.

Din’s eyes were dark and unfocused but trained on your face. “Y-Yes.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

He shook his head stiffly. “No.”

His immediate answers and pliancy made you positively drip, and you realized you _liked_ being in control of the Mandalorian. _Your_ Mandalorian.

It felt like flames were suddenly licking up your spine, the heat pooling in your pelvis before spreading out across your body, leaving every nerve sparking like a pulse rifle in its wake. You were suddenly moving _way_ too slow, and you increased the pressure of your palm against his chest.

“Lay back,” you instructed, and he complied easily, falling back onto your mattress with a dull thump and a few creaks from the bedframe.

You paused a moment to take in the sight before you: Din, spread out across your bed like an illicit holotape. The dim desk lamp and faint moonlight streaming in through the window painted the bounty hunter in stark relief, his scars and the ridges of his muscles outlined in shadow. Your eyes followed the dark trail of his hair past his navel, down between the V of his hips, where his borrowed pants were hanging dangerously low.

Dank farrik, you just wanted to strip his pants off, hastily shove yours to the side, and slide down on the rather large looking cock that was straining against the material confining it. But Din deserved more than a quick fuck, so you took a deep breath, dug your nails into your palms, and let the small bites of pain recenter you. Then, when you were ready, you dropped one knee onto the bed, followed by the other, before you slowly, _painstakingly slowly_ , started to crawl up the Mandalorian’s body.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally came to hover over his face, your knees pressing into the mattress beside his hips and your hands rooted just above his shoulders.

“Hi,” you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips as you brushed your nose against his.

“Hi,” he echoed gruffly, his eyes hyper-focused on your mouth, and you decided to indulge him as you swooped down to sneak a quick kiss. His lips chased after yours as you pulled up and away a moment later, but you placed one of your hands in the middle of his chest and pressed him into the mattress.

“Stay there,” you said, and his body immediately relaxed into the faded bedcovers. “Good.”

You darted down to give him one last peck for listening, but then you were crawling back down his body again, coming to a stop when you were face to face with his sternum. You leaned down and pressed an open-mouthed kiss there before you dragged your mouth across his right pec, your lips catching on his curly dark hair.

Din hissed above you at the sensation, but then he nearly shouted when your hot mouth closed around his nipple.

“Osik!” The word sounded like gravel coming out of his mouth, and his hand suddenly shot up and buried itself in your hair. He didn’t tug at you, though, just palmed the back of your skull, so you took that as a sign of encouragement.

You laved your tongue across his nipple, twirling around his areola a few times before you sucked the bud tightly into your mouth, scraping your teeth across the very tip.

“Dank farrik!” he cursed, and this time he did tug at you.

You let his nipple fall out of your mouth with a soft plop and looked up at his face. His cheeks were flushed under his beard, his lower lip red and swollen like he’d been biting at it to try and keep quiet, his hair sticking up at odd angles from his head. His eyes were two black holes that you wanted to fall into and never leave.

“Too much?” you murmured before you puckered your lips and blew cold air onto his still slick skin.

“Yes!” Din gasped, fingers spasming in your hair, his body twitching beneath you. “N-No. I don’t… I… ”

You paused your ministrations for a moment, repeated your familiar question. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” The Mandalorian tossed his head back and forth, but then he paused and seemed to actually consider your words. His chest heaved upwards with a deep inhale, his eyes finding yours in the dim room. “Actually, y-yes, I want you to stop. But only because I want… more.”

“More?” you echoed. “Like what? Tell me what you want.”

“Come here.” Din’s fingers tightened in your hair and gently tugged you up.

You followed easily, coming to settle on his hips, your knees tight against his sides. You wiggled a little to get comfortable, arched your back, and then licked your lips as you looked down at the man beneath you.

“What else do you want?” you murmured.

“This.” His hands dropped to the hemline of your ratty, oversized shirt, tugging upward slightly but pausing when he reached your navel. “I want this off.”

“Then take it off,” you said, a hint of a challenge in your words, and a moment later you gasped as the garment was ripped over your head.

Goosebumps broke out across your skin as the cold air caressed your bare flesh, and you shivered as you started to cross your arms to try and retain some warmth.

“No,” Din grunted, his hands locking around your wrists. “I-I want to see you.”

The heat in his voice was enough to chase the worst of your chill away, and you dropped your arms by your side, Din’s hands settling on your waist. You flushed as you watched him devour the sight of you with starving eyes, and then you shuddered when he lifted a hand but paused a breath’s away from touching you.

“May I?” he asked, but the roughness of his voice made it seem like he was begging.

“Yes.” You nodded like a bobble-head, pressing your hips down onto the bulge beneath you until the Mandalorian hissed.

A moment later, his calloused palm closed around your breast, kneading it gently. You keened low in your throat, arching your back into the sensation, and Din took the opportunity to pinch your nipple.

“Kriff!” you gasped, a bolt of lightning arching from your nipple and straight to your clit.

Din froze, but before he could ask, you were already rocking into his hand, rolling your hips against his.

“Good, that felt good,” you babbled as you clasped his palm against your breast. “Don’t stop.”

“Haar’chak, mesh’la,” the bounty hunter groaned, bucking up beneath you as he tweaked your nipple again. “You are so beautiful. So pretty. I-I can barely think.”

“So, don’t think,” you panted before you swooped down and slanted your mouth across his. You were a little riled up now, a little sloppy, and saliva coated your lips as you coaxed Din’s tongue back into your mouth.

He moaned under you, the sound vibrating through your teeth, and then both of his hands locked down onto your hips as he ground his pelvis up into yours.

“Fuck.” You ripped your mouth away from his, ducking down to lick a line of hot fire up the side of his neck. You paused over his throbbing pulse point and raked your teeth across the sweat-slicked skin, tasting salt, and the flavor made you groan. “Dank farrik, Din, I want to taste you. Can I put my mouth on you? On your cock? Please?”

You punctuated your plea by sucking a hickey just behind his ear, and the breath stuttered out of the bounty hunter’s lungs.

“N-No,” he said to your surprise, and then he craned his head out of your reach before repeating himself. “No.”

You immediately froze above him, the roaring fire in your belly being banked abruptly as you pulled back to meet his gaze. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong? We can stop.”

“You did nothing wrong, cyar’ika,” Din rumbled as he reached up to cup your face, but then he looked embarrassed as he averted his gaze. “I just… if you did put your mouth on me, I wouldn’t last more than three seconds.”

“That’s okay.” You smiled, relieved you hadn’t upset him. Then you turned your head to kiss his palm. “We can always do round two later. I just want to make you feel good.”

“I want that, too,” he said with a frown, but his expression spasmed and fractured when you suddenly pulled one of his fingers into your hot mouth and hollowed your cheeks.

You swirled your tongue around his calloused digit, drawing it deep into your mouth before you slowly pulled your head back and dragged your teeth along his skin. You released his finger with a soft pop and then smirked at his dazed look.

“So, we’re in agreement,” you chuckled. “We both want you to feel good. May I continue?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Din argued, some of his higher brain function coming back online as he met your gaze. “ _I_ want to make _you_ feel good. I-I want to put my mouth on _you_. Please?”

You wanted to argue, insist that you take care of him first since this was _his_ first time, but then his nails bit into your hips and he was suddenly rambling.

“I-I’ve thought about it before. Tasting you. It’s… what I’ve dreamt about most. So, please, cyare.” To emphasize his words, he ground his cock up into your clothed center again, and you groaned at how hard he was, how much he was throbbing at the prospect of eating you out.

“Kriff, okay, yes,” you panted, planting your hands on his chest and dragging your clit against his shaft once, twice, and then the world was suddenly revolving around you. A gasp was torn from your mouth a moment before your back bounced against the mattress, the frame creaking loudly beneath you, and now you were staring up at a disheveled looking Mandalorian. His hair was a wild halo around his head, his eyes black with desire, and he stared down at you like he wanted to swallow you whole.

“Is this alright?” he asked, one of his thumbs coming up to brush over your cheekbone.

“More than alright,” you breathed before you let your knees fall open to either side of you. “Do whatever you want to me. I’ll tell you to stop if I need you to.”

“Maker,” Din groaned as he dropped his forehead against yours. “You’re going to be the death of me, mesh’la.”

“Don’t die on me before we even get to the main event,” you snickered, tilting your chin up to press a kiss to his parted lips.

“No promises,” the bounty hunter grunted before he slowly started to slide down your body.

He paused for a moment above your breasts, a contemplative look in his eyes, and then he ducked down to drag his tongue across one of your nipples like you had done to him. His tongue was hot, but his spit cooled almost instantly when he pulled his mouth away, and you keened at the dual sensations.

“I want to do more of _that_ later,” Din growled as he quickly sucked your other nipple into his mouth. He released it just as quickly, leaving you writhing in aborted pleasure. “But there’s something I want more _now.”_

His voice had deepened into a sensual rasp, not unlike what he sounded like with his helmet’s modulator, and you shuddered as more arousal leaked out of you.

The Mandalorian shuffled down the bed until he was actually kneeling on the floor at the foot of the mattress. Then his hands wrapped around your ankles and dragged you closer to him, until your legs were dangling off the bed by your knees.

Your own hands ripped at the drawstring of your ratty sweatpants, and you hooked your thumbs beneath its waistband, along with your underwear’s. Lifting your hips, you tugged both down around your thighs, and then the bounty hunter took over, dragging the garments the rest of the way down your legs until they fell to the floor.

And just like that, you were utterly naked before the Mandalorian. _Your_ Mandalorian.

It had been a while since you’d been naked in front of anyone, though, so you instinctively tried to draw your legs together.

“No.” Din’s hands curled around your knees and kept them from closing, his touch firm but not demanding. “I want to look at you.”

His rumbling request turned your bones into jelly, and you went limp against the mattress, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked down at the man kneeling between your legs like you were an altar he had come to worship at.

“Din,” you muttered in embarrassment when he continued to just stare at where you were slick and exposed. His eyes were dark and hollow and hungry, like a predator that had finally caught its prey.

“Gorgeous,” he whispered, scooting forward until his chest was flush with the end of the mattress. Then he turned, pressed a line of kisses up your right leg, and slowly coaxed it over is shoulder. He followed the same routine with your left leg, and within moments you were spread out before him like a buffet, your legs dangling behind him as his hands pulled you even closer. “I have never seen anything as lovely as you, cyar’ika. You look like a dream. No… you look better than every dream I’ve ever had.”

“Well, you’re definitely not dreaming here,” you huffed as you wiggled in his grasp, antsy with desire and with being so spread open and vulnerable. “There’s even a way for you to make sure.”

You bucked your pelvis upward to emphasize your point, and a small smirk tugged at the bounty hunter’s lips.

“You mean, like this?” he asked before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your inner thigh.

“That’s a good start,” you panted, flushing when you felt more slick drip out of you.

Din must have seen it, too, because he withdrew from your thigh and leaned forward until his warm breath was ghosting over your mound.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have the patience to tease you, mesh’la,” he growled, and then he tucked both of his hands under your ass to tilt your hips up toward his mouth. “I need to taste you.”

You opened your mouth to reassure him, say it was okay, but then his tongue dragged up your slit from base to clit, and your vision whited out.

“Pfassk!” you gasped, body jerking like you’d stepped on a live wire.

Din pulled away and glanced up at you from between your legs. “Are you—”

“Yes!” you practically shouted as you tangled both your hands into his hair and tugged him closer. “Don’t stop.”

The Mandalorian didn’t hesitate to bury his face into your pussy again, and one of his arms pressed down on your hips like a bar of pure beskar to keep you from bucking off the bed.

“Kriffffffff,” you groaned as he licked at you sloppily.

Like with kissing, he didn’t have a technique at first, nor did he have any experience to guide him. He struggled to build up a rhythm, saliva making everything slick and slippery between your legs, but he moaned every time he tasted you, and when you twitched because something felt particularly good, he made sure to copy that move until he had perfected it. The tip of his tongue dipped in and out of your folds at sporadic intervals, and you shuddered every time. Then his lips found your clitoris and wrapped around it, but his first pull was a little too sharp, and you hissed as you tugged at his hair.

He pulled away quickly and looked up at you, his mouth slick with spit and your juices, his lips as red as cherries.

“Little too rough,” you panted, and you ran your thumb along his bottom lip, smearing the mess there because you couldn’t help yourself.

“Sorry,” he rasped, nipping at the pad of your thumb. “You just taste too good, cyare.”

“Maker, Din,” you groaned as you shuddered beneath him. “You keep talking like that, and I’m gonna—”

You cut yourself off when the bounty hunter suddenly cocked his head at you, hearing the beginning of a weakness and zeroing in on it.

“Yeah?” he asked as he replaced his mouth with his hand, his fingers dragging through your folds, collecting the slick that had gathered there. “Do you like hearing me talk, cyar’ika? Do you like hearing me say how good you taste? How beautiful you are? How hard you’ve made me? How much I want you?”

“Fuck!” Your body jerked as his thumb settled over your clit, but he’d learned from his earlier mistake, and the circles he painted over your pleasure node were gentle, almost teasing.

“Well?” he prompted, and he added a little more pressure behind his touch.

“Y-Yes, Din,” you gasped, mouth flopping open as you ground down onto his hand. “I love your voice. Lo…ved it through the modulator, love it without it. Just the sound of it gets me… wet most days.”

“Wet like this?” he growled before he sunk a single finger into your pussy.

“Yes!” you shouted, and your body bowed as you tried to suck his finger deeper inside you.

“Haar’chak, you’re drenched,” he breathed, his finger squelching in and out of you at a steady rhythm, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough.

“More,” you moaned as your fingers twisted into the sheets beneath you. “Please, Din.”

The Mandalorian cursed in a foreign language under his breath, and then he was slipping a second digit in beside the first, slowly delving deeper until his knuckles brushed up against your slit.

“Krifffffing helllllll,” you groaned through gritted teeth. His fingers were thick and calloused inside you, and he rocked them gently back and forth for a moment to let you adjust to them. Then he began to explore a little, spreading his fingers apart, pressing them into your hot and fluttering walls, and the coil in your gut wound tighter and tighter with every caress.

“Will you cum for me, mesh’la?” he asked as his fingers found that one spongy spot inside you and _pressed._

“Oh!” you gasped, your eyes flying open as electricity arced down your spine. Your hands scrambled for purchase on the bed, your hips trying to writhe out from beneath you. “D-Din. I… I’m…”

“That’s it,” he murmured before he settled this thumb over your clit again and rubbed you in soft, tight circles. “Cum for me. Please. I want to see you, feel you. Cum for me.”

“Dinnnnn!” you screamed as your orgasmed ripped through you like a rogue wave, carrying you out to sea. You were vaguely aware of clenching around the bounty hunter’s fingers, of liquid coating your thighs, but your vision tunneled like you were making the jump to lightspeed, your ears ringing until you could hear nothing else.

Eventually, you drifted back down to the planet, your senses returning to you in pieces. You felt your body lax and limp against the bed sheets a few moments before your ears popped and let you hear the harsh pants sawing in and out of your chest. Then you caught a whiff of the tangy scent of your own arousal, and when you blinked open your eyes, you saw the Mandalorian sucking his fingers into his mouth, sucking the taste of you off them.

“Maker,” you cursed, and you tossed your arm up over your eyes. “I think _you’re_ going to be the death of _me._ ”

“I thought you said ‘not before the main event.’”

The bounty hunter had a strangled quality to his voice, so you drew your hand away from your face and cocked your head to look at him. He was kneeling up on the foot of the bed now, knees spread shoulder-with apart, his pants straining around his cock. His chest was flushed and so were his cheeks, and he was still licking his lips like he was trying to swipe up every drop of your essence.

Even though you’d just climaxed, heat trickled through your veins again, and you grinned up at Din.

“You’re right,” you said as you reached your arm out toward him. “Come here.”

The Mandalorian took your hand, and then you were tugging him down on top of you, giggling when his body collided with yours and pressed you into the mattress. Your giggles quickly turned to moans, though, when you felt the hot line of his cock up against you, and you shifted to shove him down onto the mattress instead.

“I want to ride you,” you panted. “Can I?”

“Dank farrik, yes,” Din hissed as you started tugging at his pants.

You ripped the offending garment open in record time, dragging them down his legs and yanking them off with a huff. You were too turned on now to study him, but you didn’t think the bounty hunter minded as you slid back into his lap, your slick pussy nestled against his mushroom shaped head.

“Tell me what you want,” you murmured for the last time as you stared down into Din’s dark-brown eyes.

“I want to be inside you,” he replied instantly, no hesitation. His hands clamped down around your hips, and his pelvis twitched beneath you, bumping the head of his cock into your clit.

“Good boy,” you sighed without thinking, and you thought you heard Din gasp at your words, but then you were sliding down his shaft, and any other thoughts went out the window.

He was thicker than you’d anticipated, the head burning as it parted your folds and slid inside you inch by inch. You whimpered as you threw back your head, grinding your hips down to get more of that delicious stretch, but Din suddenly cursed and dug his nails into your hips so hard you were sure he drew blood.

“Stop, stopstopstopstop,” he babbled, and you froze halfway down his dick.

“Is something wrong?” you panted. “Am I hurting you?”

“No, _osik,_ ” he spat through gritted teeth, and he slammed his eyes closed as he ground his jaw. “You just… feel too good, cyar’ika.”

“Oh,” you breathed, but the heady knowledge that you already had the bounty hunter so on edge made your pussy flutter.

“ _Don’t._ ” Din’s hands tightened on your hips. “Don’t move.”

He was for sure leaving bruises now, but all you could do was moan.

The pair of you stayed frozen like that for what seemed like an eternity, but eventually his grip on you slackened, and some of the tension bled out of his body.

“Okay,” he huffed, relaxing slightly into the bed. “Okay, y-you can move. But _slowly._ ”

“I can do slowly,” you said, and to prove your point, you resumed sliding down his cock.

Inch-by-kriffing-inch.

Several lightyears passed in which you _slowly_ started to lose your mind, but suddenly, your ass bumped into the Mandalorian’s hips, and you realized he had bottomed out inside you, the head nudging just shy of your cervix. You whimpered as you clenched around him, rocking ever so slightly. You had never felt so full, and every time he breathed he was brushing up against another magic spot inside you that made you see stars.

“Stop, stop,” he said again, and his hands locked you down against him once more.

You moaned as you settled in is lap, but you didn’t move any more than that.

“Sorry,” he rasped as he blinked up at you, his eyes hazy and unfocused. “I… didn’t know it would be so intense.”

“Don’t apologize,” you murmured, trailing your fingers across his chest before you planted your palm over his hammering heart. “You feel so good buried deep inside me. Part of me wants to keep you there forever.”

“Don’t _say_ things like that,” he groaned, and he knocked his head back into the pillow, every tendon in his neck standing out in stark relief. “I’m on a hair trigger here.”

“I know.” You smirked as you fluttered your walls around him again, and his hissed as he bared his teeth. “I like it. I like seeing you so close to coming undone and knowing that _I_ did it. In fact, I kind of want to see how long I can keep you like this, teetering on the edge of oblivion.”

Din’s eyes found yours in the semi-darkness, and your heart stuttered in your chest at the naked adoration you saw there.

“Do with me what you will, cyar’ika,” he said. “I’m yours. Darasuum.”

You didn’t know the exact meaning of the last Mando’a word, but something in the reverent way he said it helped you to understand.

“Dank farrik,” you cursed as his words caused more of your juices to trickle out along his shaft, and you leaned down to crash your mouths together as his cock throbbed deep within your core.

Time lost all meaning after that.

You rode Din’s cock in small rocking motions, never going far before you were slotting him fully home again. Your hands were planted on his chest for leverage, and you ground your pulsing clit into the coarse hairs at the base of his member until his pelvis was nearly soaked in your arousal.

Every few minutes, sometimes sooner, the Mandalorian would go ridgid beneath you and lock your hips against him, his breath harsh and jagged as it sawed its way past gritted teeth. In these moments, you held your lower body still, but you made sure to drag your fingers up his torso or wind them through his hair, and all the while you kept up a running commentary of how kriffing incredible the bounty hunter was. How handsome. How strong. How brave. The Mandalorian came undone a little more with each compliment and praise that slipped past your lips, and you vowed to yourself that you would spend the rest of your life showering him with all the kind words he deserved.

Eventually, Din’s hand drifted from your hip and angled down to your clit, where his thumb settled firmly.

“Ooooh.” You shivered and tossed your head back, rolling against his hand as you rocked on top of his cock. “R-Right there.”

“Feel good?” the bounty hunter rumbled.

“M-mmhmm,” you hummed, and every nerve ending was alight with pleasure from drawing this out for so long. “I-I think… I think I’m gonna cum.”

“Really?” he asked with an edge to his voice, and his hips jolted beneath you, digging his cock into your G-spot.

“Dank farrik, yes!” you gasped as stars started to dance before your eyes. You slid higher off his cock than usual, the head catching on your twitching entrance, and then you slammed your hips back down and buried him deep inside you again. “So close, I’m so close… A-Are you close?”

“Yes,” Din bit out, and suddenly the last shred of his restraint snapped like an overtaxed rubber band. One of his hands slapped down on your thigh while the other one kept you anchored at the waist, and then his hips were bucking straight off the bed, taking you up into the air with him.

“Din, Din, oh, Maker, kriff! I-I’m cumming. Cum with me. Ohhhhh, c-cum inside me, cum inside me, _cuminsideme_ , Dinnnnnnnnn!” Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you raked your nails down the bounty hunter’s chest and hurtled over the edge, and he shouted your name as he thrust up once, twice, three times before collapsing back against the bed and taking you with him.

You whimpered as you felt his shaft throb deep inside you, painting your spasming walls with his cum. The warmth of his seed flooding deep into your womb triggered a second, somewhat smaller climax, and you whined and writhed on top of the groaning Mandalorian as he clutched you against his chest. The two of you twitched against each other for several minutes as you both came back down, and you sighed as you tucked your head under his chin.

Silence stretched and undulated as you both regulated your breathing again, and then Din started absently tracing his fingers across your back. You couldn’t tell if he was writing words or painting symbols, but the sensation was soothing, and you pressed a kiss into the hollow of his throat.

“Was… that okay for you, cyare?” Din murmured a few minutes later, the words nearly lost in your hair.

“Sorry, my processing unit is currently offline due to a circuit-frying orgasm,” you muttered in a droid-esque voice. “Please inquire again later.”

The Mandalorian chuckled beneath you, his laughter vibrating through your body, and you groaned as the slight movement jostled his softened member out of your sensitive entrance.

“Krifff,” you hissed as you felt a rush of liquids gush out of you, running down your abused slit and pooling on the bounty hunter’s pelvis. You flushed with embarrassment and cleared your throat, pressing your warm face into his skin. “Lucky thing I have the implant because it seems like you made a mess.”

“I think you had something to do with it, too,” Din said, and when you lifted your head, you found him smirking at you.

The expression was so carefree, so relaxed, unburdened, and _happy,_ your heart felt like it grew two sizes in your chest. You wanted to keep the bounty hunter looking like this forever, but sadly forever was never as long as you would like.

“Regardless of blame, it looks like we’ll both have to hop back in the fresher,” you sighed as you started to push yourself up off him.

“In a minute,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around your back and tugging you down flush against his chest again. You could feel the slick mess of bodily fluids between you, but instead of disgusting you, the sensation made your core throb again.

“We’re gonna wake up stuck together if we fall asleep like this,” you warned, but you were already snuggling against him as you tucked your head under his chin again.

“Good,” he replied, his voice soft and slightly slurred with encroaching sleep. “Then you’ll truly be stuck with me.”

“D-Did you just make a joke?” you snorted quietly. “A pun? I’m not sure which.”

“We can decide in the morning,” he sighed before he pressed a kiss to your brow. “Goodnight, cyar’ika. And… thank you. For everything. That was… better than I had ever dreamed.”

“I’m glad, but you don’t have to thank me,” you murmured into is clavicle as sleep started to weigh down your eyelids. “I love you, and I want to make you feel good. Happy. Simple as that.”

“Only you would call love simple,” Din chuckled, and his fingers began to card through your hair.

“Mmmmm,” you hummed. You tried to think of a more coherent response, but exhaustion was tugging at your limbs, and the Mandalorian’s stroking hand was like a lullaby you had no defense for.

You spiraled off into oblivion wrapped in the bounty hunter’s arms, but just before you slipped away entirely, you could have sworn he whispered something into your ear.

_Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum, riduur._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando’a Glossary: 
> 
> Ret’urcye mhi -- Goodbye; literally: “Maybe we’ll meet again”
> 
> Ner vod – “My brother/sister”; colloquially also “my friend”
> 
> K’oyacyi – “Cheers!” Can also mean “Hang in there” or “Come back safely.”; literally a command: “Stay alive!”
> 
> Burc’ya – friend 
> 
> dar’manda -- a state of being “not Mandalorian”; not an outsider, but one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and soul
> 
> cyar’ika - darling, beloved, sweetheart
> 
> cyare – beloved, loved 
> 
> mesh’la – beautiful
> 
> Osik – shit 
> 
> Haar’chak – Damn it. 
> 
> Darasuum - eternal or eternally, forever
> 
> Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum – I love you 
> 
> Riduur – Spouse, partner, husband/wife 
> 
> ~~~~ 
> 
> Basic Glossary 
> 
> Pfassk -- An adaptable expletive, as in “What the pfassk is going on?”


End file.
